


Family(Doesn't End with Blood)

by wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, M/M, Pretending to Be Gay, adoption!fic, everyone's favorite wincest story, pretending to be a couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:29:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam have to go to Montana to take on a rather curious case: Shifters have taken advantage of a local gay adoption center. </p><p>Key word?</p><p>Gay.</p><p>There's no way Sam and Dean can do this case without pretending to be gay, and since they don't want to bring in any other hunters, they're stuck with pretending to be a couple with each other. This presents a problem for both Winchesters: They're both convinced that the other would be horrified to find out about the supposedly-unrequited love that one has for the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family(Doesn't End with Blood)

**Author's Note:**

> WIP.

Dean was sorting through some of the files left behind by the Men of Letters—basically the nerds of the hunting world—in the bunker. Or, as Dean called it, the bat cave.

He perused the papers, pausing when he found one marked, "UNRESOLVED." In bold red stamped ink. Before he could open it, however, his phone rang. "'Ello," he answered.

"Dean, Garth here. Got sumthin for you and Sammy-boy," Garth said, and he sounded breathless.

"What is it?" Dean asked, slightly wary. Garth wasn't the... sanest of hunters.

"Think we maybe have some shifters or sumthin in the orphanage in this little town here in Montana. I can't check it out; apparently they cater to certain people and I'm not one of them."

Dean was quiet for a moment, then started asking Garth the usual questions. Finally he said he'd talk to Sam about it and hung up.

Dean found Sam in the main library, and he dropped into a chair beside Sam. "Garth's found something," he announced.

Sam looked up from the book he'd been reading, and offered Dean a grimace-turned-smile. Hunts from Garth were always different, but that didn't necessarily make them fun. "Yeah? What kind of something?"

 

"Helena, Montana seems to have developed a problem with their local adoption center. Seems the prospective parents adopt the kid, and then later they turn up dead, and the kid goes missing. The kicker? Next kid to get adopted looks like a younger version of one of the parents. Garth says the center only caters to certain... clientele, but he wouldn't tell me what kind." Dean watched Sam closely; ever since the thing with Kristy and the other young hunters, they'd tried to avoid anything with a hint of young supernatural.

 

Sam's mouth twisted down at the corners. He knew they'd been making a point of avoiding this type of thing lately, but people were dying. "I guess we're going to Montana, then," he said, and pushed a few books off the top of his laptop so he could pull it towards him. "I'll see what I can find. Are you thinking shifters?"

 

Dean nodded. "But I've never heard of shifters acting like this..." His voice trailed off as he thought, but he still came up blank. He gave himself a little shake. "I'll go check on the weapons and whatnot, make sure Baby's fully stocked." He pushed away from the table and headed out.

 

Sam spent an hour digging up everything he could find on the case and printing it out, saving it to be perused on the journey. There wasn't a lot, and at first glance most articles seemed strangely vague about the adoption centre itself, so he had yet to discover what kind of specialist clientele Garth had talked about. At last, Sam admitted defeat, and retreated to his room to pack. The sooner they got on the road, the sooner this would be over.   
  
As always, burying his nose in a pile of research was an excellent way to tune out Dean's awful music—and his singing. From what he had read thus far, it seemed that they would only be dealing with one shifter, possibly one that had simply been lost in the system. Sam was just starting to think that maybe this wouldn't be too difficult to deal with when he came across an article that provided a lot more information than all of the others. He closed his eyes, despairing silently. Dean wasn't going to like this.

 

Dean heard Sam let out a quiet sigh and saw him hang his head. "Bad news, I take it?" he asked, glancing over at Sam before returning his attention to the road. He was fairly certain they were going to have to actually rent a house for this one; no one was gonna let them get near the center if they were just passing through.

 

"Uhh, maybe?" Sam hedged, shuffling the papers in his lap nervously. He had no idea how Dean Winchester, the straightest man to ever walk the earth, was going to take this. "You know that 'certain clientele' Garth mentioned? It's homosexual. The centre helps gay couples adopt."

 

Dean's hands tightened reflexively on the Impala's steering wheel. _Well, shit._ If the center only helps gay couples...

Dean wasn't exactly straight. Technically, he supposed he was what could be termed "bisexual." Of course, considering that the only guy he was attracted to was one who would never even possibly consider him for a multitude of reasons—namely the fact that this guy was beyond straight as far as Dean knew—he wasn't likely to ever hook up with any guy.

"Oh," he muttered. "Great."

Sam shook his head and slid the pages back into their file. "I know," he sighed, biting his lip. Dean hated it when people mistook them for a couple. "We could just go into it the way we usually do, as FBI agents investigating the case, but I really don't think the centre will let us get near any of the kids, especially as we have no way of proving that it was the same kid adopted each time." Sam took a deep breath. "I hate to say it, man, but we'd have a better chance actually trying to adopt the thing ourselves."

 

Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I hate it when you're right," he muttered, trying to ignore the little thrill that went through him at the fact that he and Sam would have to act like a couple, instead of refuting it as they usually did.

 

Sam patted Dean's arm sympathetically. "Hopefully it won't take long," he said, although he doubted his own words. The adoption process was not a quick one, and wasn't it even longer for gay couples? Great. However long this lasted, it was going to be like hell. Again.

 

Dean just snorted. He knew full well how long the adoption process lasted. "Yeah, sure," he said, unconvinced.

Things got even better when they arrived in Helena: the only motel open only had a single king available. Dean took it, but grumbled for the rest of the night. "Just hope that there’ll be a house open with two bedrooms," he muttered before disappearing into the bathroom.

Sam was sat at the table, going over the articles again, and didn't look up until he heard the bathroom door close. He sighed, his gaze travelling involuntarily over to the bed. It was just his luck; as if pretending to be gay with his brother wasn't bad enough, now he had to share a bed with him. He'd managed to avoid that mostly since he left Stanford, and the times when he'd been unable to had been tolerable, but now? Now, he was going to have to lie there all night, listening to Dean snore and thinking about what they would be doing tomorrow. In Sam's book, that equated to absolute torture.   
  
It wasn't often that he was forced to confront his less-than-brotherly feelings for Dean, but this was one of those times. Of course, it was hardly ideal given the nature of their current case, but something inside Sam wouldn't stop piping up to point out that this might be his chance—his only chance—to find out what being with Dean _like that_ was like.  Sam was under no false illusions, he knew he was never going to get to be with Dean for real, which was exactly why he should seize this opportunity. As long as he didn't get too deep into the fantasy, he could let himself believe, just for a little while, that whatever story they cooked up for the adoption centre was real.  
  
Sam jerked when he realised that he was actually considering this as a possibility, and buried his face in his hands. He was so screwed. When Dean came out of the shower, he was only wearing a pair of jeans. He'd forgotten to grab a shirt before he went in, and as he was getting dressed he decided it wasn't worth the trouble since he wasn't planning on going out. He walked out of the bathroom and flopped onto the bed, facedown. "Find anything?" he asked, his voice muffled by the blankets. He was very determinedly _not_ thinking about tonight, when he'd be lying next to Sam, under the same covers, close enough to touch—

It was almost enough to make him think about sleeping in the Impala. Almost, but not quite.

"Nada," Sam answered, his eyes fixed firmly on the page in front of him. He'd looked up as Dean had entered, and a single glimpse of a stray rivulet of water on his big brother's collarbone had almost been his undoing. However, fleeing the room and locking himself in the Impala for the night would mean standing up, and Sam really didn't want Dean to see the predicament he was currently in. "Just more of the same. Have you given any thought to how we're going to be sure that we're adopting the shifter without, y'know, alerting the shifter?"

 

"Yeah." Dean flipped over onto his back, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, folding his arms back behind his head. "Figured since the pattern is the next kid looks like a younger version of one of the previous vics, we find pictures of the last couple to die, and keep an eye out for a kid in the center who looks like a younger one of either of them." He started counting the number of tiles in the ceiling to keep himself occupied—Coming out here shirtless hadn't been the smartest idea.

 

Sam nodded. Not only had that probably been a really stupid question, asking it had led to Dean rolling over to talk to him better, and now Sam could see his abs... He raised his eyes heavenward. "Wanna put a shirt on, dude? I know you're eager to get into character but popular to contrary belief, gay guys do wear clothes." Okay, Sam could admit that was weak, but he was getting desperate. Normally he could handle seeing Dean in most states of undress, but the internal dialogue he'd indulged in while Dean was in the shower had brought everything to the surface. Sue him. 

 

Dean glanced over at Sam in surprise, only to find Sam mirroring his early staring position. He smirked. "And you would know that, how?" he asked, not moving to get up. He was the older brother, after all. If it was annoying Sam, then he'd keep on doing it.

 

Sam rolled his eyes and shot Dean his patented bitchface. "Because I'm a flaming queen," he deadpanned, irritated. "One of my friends from Stanford was gay. He was definitely fully dressed at all times. Well, apart from—" Sam snapped his mouth shut. No, Dean didn't need to know about that.

 

Dean sat up, an interested noise escaping his throat. "C'mon, Sammy, apart from what? Can't just leave it hanging like that!" Abruptly, Dean realized that maybe Sam was implying that he and that kid—

No.

Not Sammy. He wasn't gay, or even bi. He was straight. Dean would have known, especially after all these years travelling together, if his little brother was just as interested in the guy at the pool table as the chick a few stools down at the bar.

Wouldn't he?

Sam flushed to the tips of his ears and looked away. "He may have dragged me to a gay bar once. Not just me—Jess and everyone, too." And maybe, just maybe, the guy had sucked Sam off in the men's room, but it was before he and Jess had gotten together and they'd never spoken of it again, so it didn't count. Even if it did, that was _not_ a detail he was sharing with anyone, least of all his big brother.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Mhm," he said, unconvinced. He glanced at the clock and yawned. "Well, it's late. I'm going to bed. Feel free to join me whenever, but hands and feet to yourself, Sasquatch." So saying, he flipped under the covers, sprawled on his stomach, and promptly went to sleep.

 

Sam spent several minutes just staring at the lump beneath the covers that was Dean. He couldn't quite believe that Dean had just dropped it, but he supposed he should be thankful. Now he didn't have to look at Dean's bare torso anymore and he had a few hours uninterrupted in which he could psych himself up to climbing into bed with his brother/crush/object of disgusting incestuous affections.   
  
As it turned out, one can never be psyched up enough for such things. Morning found Sam still sitting at the table, fast asleep, his face stuck to the article which had gotten them into this mess in the first place. 

When Dean woke up, his first thought—as it had been ever since he was 4—was, _Where's Sammy?_ His second was, _Why isn't Sam in bed with me?_

Squinting, he shoved himself onto his elbows, glaring at the bit of sun that managed to make it through that teeny gap in the curtains to hit him _right_ in the eye. He glanced around, then frowned when he spotted Sam slouched over the table. He was still too comfortable to get up, so he settled for slinging a pillow at Sam's head, chuckling when he almost knocked Sam sideways into the wall with it. "Hey, thought I told you to come sleep with me?" he demanded.

Sam woke with a start and a curse, and he was on his feet and reaching for his knife when he realised three things: one, Dean had woken him, not a demon; two, Dean was still shirtless; three, there was a piece of paper stuck to his face. He pulled it off with a snarl and lashed the pillow back across the room, hitting Dean square in the face. Satisfied, he flopped back into the chair.   
  
"Sorry; didn't realise you wanted to snuggle," he sniped, scrubbing a hand over his face. It was probably a testament to how tired he was that he didn't even blush at Dean's comment. "I stayed up reading and fell asleep, alright? It happens. What time is it?"

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Jesus, someone's cranky. Woke up on the wrong side of the room, did we?" He glanced over at the clock. "And it's 10AM. Time for breakfast." He hopped out from under the covers and bent to rummage in his duffel, pulling out a shirt and throwing it on. "C'mon, Samantha; there's a diner next door. We can start asking around about houses for rent."

 

Sam flipped him off before standing, moaning when his spine popped as he stretched. "Hold your horses. Give me five minutes, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, he crossed the room, grabbed his duffel and locked himself in the bathroom.  
  
He took ten minutes, just to be contrary. When he came out, he was showered, dressed and feeling a lot better. He'd even taken the time to 'clean the pipes', as Dean would say, so hopefully he would be able to keep his libido under better control than he had yesterday. Sam spared a smile for Dean as he stuffed his feet into his boots, and gestured to the door. "Let's go, handsome."

 

"Whatever you say, bitch," Dean smirked, smacking Sam on the ass as they walked out of the motel room. All the way to the diner and through breakfast, he made sure he had the look of a well-laid man about him—and he sure as hell knew how to pull it off, too.

 

Sam was nowhere near as relaxed as Dean during breakfast, but he tried not to let it show. Still, if it hadn't been for Dean's surprisingly impressive acting skills, Sam was sure they wouldn't have appeared as a big enough blip on the waitress' radar for her to interrupt their meal with a sugary-sweet, "You two are so cute! I haven't seen you around here before, have I?" Sam had half expected the plan to fall through right there—the woman was wearing a low-cut top and was sporting some impressive cleavage—but Dean managed to keep his eyes in his head long enough to spout some bullshit about looking to settle down with his man, and they'd left with the number of a real estate agent, who happened to be the waitress' cousin, programmed into Sam's cell.   
  
He called her when they got back to the car and set up a meeting in a couple of hours. That gave them some time to kill. "Do you want to go to the adoption centre now or after we've found somewhere to live?" Sam asked, as though he hadn't just spent half an hour crammed into a booth beside Dean and loving every second of it. 

 

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "After," he decided. "It'll look more credible if we're already looking for a house." He flashed Sam a grin. "Whatever will we do with ourselves till then?"

 

Sam shrugged, not sure he liked Dean's tone. "We could check out the victims' homes?" he suggested. "Or just acquaint ourselves with the area. It might not hurt to start making some friends, in case we need character references for the adoption."

 

Dean honestly felt a little disappointed that Sam didn't rise to the bait, but he nods anyway. "We can kill two birds with one stone: We'll check out neighborhoods and ask around about the vics. What were the names of the last two?" he asked as he pulled out of the parking space and headed out of the lot.

 

"Josh and Amy Porter," Sam supplied immediately, and then flushed. He'd been so eager to distract himself last night that he had practically every detail of the articles memorised. "I think they lived pretty close by."

 

Dean glanced over at Sam. "What a delightful blush you're sporting, lover," he observed dryly. "Any particular cause?" It did make Sam look younger, and Sam looked far too old for his years as it was.

 

"No." Sam felt the colour on his cheeks deepen even further, so he turned to face the window. Trust Dean to pick now to become observant, when Sam so desperately wanted to hide. "Just keep your eyes on the road, _honey_."

 

Dean smirked and reached over to ruffle Sam's hair. "Cute of you to doubt my driving skills after all these years, Sammy boy." He obliged Sam though, turning back to face out the window. Several minutes later, they were pulling into a neighborhood that made Dean want to puke with its cliche suburban paradise-ness.

 

Sam heaved a sigh and let his gaze wander over the perfect houses around them. Considering he was the one who craved 'normal', the sight before him kind of made him want to puke too. No matter what Dean might think, the white picket fence thing didn't do much for him anymore. Sam was actually starting to think that the bat cave was the closest he was ever going to get to normal, and he was okay with that.  
  
"So I'm guessing that's where the Porters lived," he observed, pointing toward the house that was still decorated with bright yellow police tape. "Where do you want to start?"

 

Dean eyed the houses on either side of the crime scene for a moment. "Left," he decided, pulling the Impala to the curb and cutting the engine. "So," he began, shifting to sling an arm across the back of the seat and face Sam, "what's our cover story?"

 

Sam kept his face turned toward the houses, not sure what would show in his eyes if he looked at Dean just then. "I think we should keep our first names for this one," he said carefully. "We slip up a lot on normal cases but we're never around long enough for anyone to notice; since we're going to be living here for a while, we need to minimise the risk of getting caught." That was bullshit, and Dean probably knew it, but hopefully he wouldn't protest too much; if Sam was going to get what he could out of this situation, it needed to be as realistic as possible. "So I was thinking we could use the identities Zacharia made up for us that one time. Smith and Wesson or whatever. We've been together for, what, ten years; we've wanted to adopt for a while, but our hometown wasn't very accommodating, so when we heard about the adoption centre here, we knew where we had to go." Sam turned to Dean then, as though all of that hadn't just dripped off his tongue like he'd been thinking about it since he'd seen that article. His heart was racing. "Sound okay?"

 

Dean eyed Sam suspiciously. That whole spiel had sounded just a little too rehearsed. Then again, Sam was the one who always came up with the plan as far as other people went. Dean just killed stuff. "Sure," he agreed. "Dean Smith and Sam Wesson, gay lovers who hunt monsters and just so happen to secretly be brothers." He snorted and got out of the car, muttering under his breath, "If only."

 

Sam was immensely relieved that Dean hadn't questioned his cover story, and he got out of the car feeling marginally hopeful. Maybe this stint in domestic bliss would satisfy Sam's unhealthy attraction to his brother, or at the very least, perhaps it would prove to be unbearable and turn him off altogether.   
  
When Dean joined him on the other side of the street, Sam linked their arms and directed them toward the house a few doors down from the Porter residence. A young woman answered the door, and both brothers gave her their best smiles. "Hi! I hope you don't mind us bothering you; we're looking at moving into the neighbourhood and we thought we'd introduce ourselves, get to know a few people. My name's Sam, and this is my partner, Dean."

 

The woman smiled at them. "Oh, how nice! Always great to have new neighbors! What brings you boys to town? I'm Alicia, by the way."

Dean glanced up at Sam with a smirk on his face. "Well, Sammy here's been bugging me to adopt for _years_ now, but our old town wasn't very accomodating. So, we searched for centers that could help us, and found this one. We're debating whether we'll stick around for very long; we both like to move a lot."

"Oh, I understand, honey," Alicia said, grinning. "Leia and I have adopted, and our two are the sweetest things on earth! They're at school right now, and Leia's at work. Would you like to come in, have some lemonade or something?"

Dean nodded, his arm slipping in Sam's so he could hold Sam's hand and give it a squeeze. He tried to ignore the pleased worth that was curling up in his stomach at the feeling of Sam's hand in his.

Sam had to admit that he was surprised, but then he had to ask himself why. Obviously, with the adoption centre close by, gay couples were going to make up a large portion of the community. They stepped into the house and Sam tried hard not to grin like too much of an idiot—Dean was holding his hand, voluntarily. I  
Still, if Dean kept surprising him like this, it would be difficult to remind himself that none of this was real.  
  
Alicia showed them into her sitting room and when the perfunctory 'you have a beautiful home' was out of the way and they were sipping from the glasses of lemonade that had been promised, Sam took it upon himself to steer the conversation in the direction they needed to go. "Someone at the motel we stayed in last night mentioned that there was a house around here that had just become available—but we couldn't help noticing that the only one is a crime scene. What happened?"

 

Alicia sighed and shook her head sadly. "Josh and Amy were nice people. So kind and generous. It wasn't a surprise when the kid they adopted was one of the most troubled at the center. The kid seemed to be doing well, though. But, about a year after he was adopted, Josh and Amy... Well. No bodies were found, but I doubt there was much of any bodies _to be_ found. And the kid's gone missing. No one has any clues, there were no strangers hanging around—couldn't have been a hate crime, unless the killer somehow knew that Amy was trans—nothing."

Dean shared a glance with Sam. "That sounds horrible," he said softly, squeezing Sam's hand. "But hopefully it'll be solved soon."

Alicia nodded. "The police are releasing the house today, actually. It's been cleaned up and everything, they just need to get the tape off of the front door and it's good to go."

Sam affected a troubled expression and leaned into Dean, as though seeking comfort or perhaps just the reassurance of his presence. It wasn't all that difficult to pretend; the only thing that stopped Sam from doing it sometimes was the knowledge that Dean would punch him if he dared to try. "That explains the guy at the motel," he murmured, chewing his lip. "But maybe we should rethink our decision." He looked up at Dean, apparently worried; no normal person could hear this news and brush it off. "I don't want to risk you or our child."

 

Dean just grinned and wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders, giving him a one-armed hug. "We'll be fine; you know our fathers made sure we could take care of ourselves," he reminded Sam, a small smile in his voice.

Alicia smiled. "Well, with you two living on the block—assuming you take the house—the neighborhood would definitely be a lot safer," she chuckled.

They chatted for a little bit longer, learning far more about Alicia and her family than they ever needed to know, and when they left it was with an invitation to dinner later in the week and a warning that they would be expected to share all of the gory details about their relationship, too. "Well, at least we've got some time to create a fake history," Sam mused as he got into the car. "Assuming we're going. I think we should; she seemed nice enough." He rummaged around in his pockets for the piece of paper on which he'd written their appointment with the real estate agent, and made an interested sound in the back of his throat. "We're meeting her right here. Apparently she wants to fob the dead couple's house off on the newcomers. Bitch. Do you think it's haunted?"

 

Dean snorted when Sam cussed the real estate agent. "I don't know," he mused thoughtfully. "Might be; they didn't die easy, apparently." He'd stolen Sam's smartphone at one point and had looked up pics of Josh and Amy—Dean briefly wondered what Amy's name had been when she was a boy. "So, what time are we meeting the agent?" he asked.

 

"In half an hour," Sam answered, looking curiously at the house that might soon be their new home. He turned to Dean with a mischievous smile. "You wanna break in and check it out before she gets here?"

 

Dean's face lit up like a kid's on Christmas.

***

Three minutes later, they were standing inside the back door, which led to a kitchen. This was a standard 2 story house: Living room, kitchen, dining room, and bathroom on the first floor, 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and an open loft on the second. Dean pulled out his EMF reader, and as soon as he clicked it on, it was haywire.

Sam groaned. Why wasn't their job ever simple? "I'm guessing the bodies won't be released from the morgue for a while, so we can't burn them," he muttered as they walked further into the house. Dean's EMF metre did not calm down. "And we don't have time to comb through the house for whatever's tying them here. Purification ritual, maybe?"

 

Dean kept walking around. "Maybe. Let's see if maybe they're the peaceful sort of ghosts and will talk to us. They could be useful." He walked into the kitchen and the meter whined even worse than before. "Guessing they were murdered in here."

 

"Apparently so." Sam glanced at his watch. "Come on, I don't want to get into it with a ghost when we have an appointment to keep. Assuming we take the house, we can do this later."  
  
It was the right decision, because as soon as they got back to the car another one turned into the street and parked directly outside the Porters' house. A blonde woman got out, and when Sam waved at her she came over. "Hi. Are you Mr. Wesson? I think we spoke on the phone."  
  
"We did," Sam confirmed with a smile. "This is my partner, Dean Smith. You must be Ms. Mason?"  
  
"Yep, that's me. You can call me Claire." The woman shook hands with both Sam and Dean, apparently very flustered. "I didn't expect you to get here so early, but I guess you've worked out which property I'm showing you."  
  
"The crime scene, by any chance?"  
  
"Yeah. The previous residents passed away, but I can promise you that there is absolutely nothing untoward about this neighbourhood. Whatever happened to the family who lived there was a random occurrence."  
  
"You mean you don't know what happened?" Sam asked, eyes innocently wide. Claire blushed.  
  
"I'm not privy to those details, sir. Shall we take a look inside?"

 

Dean gave Sam a reassuring squeeze. "C'mon, babe; we're here, might as well go look inside." He followed Claire into the house, waiting for her to find the right key and unlock the front door. He could have picked the lock before she unlocked the door; she must be a new agent.

"Well, no sign of blood," he observed dryly as they began touring the first floor.

"No; the police are done in here so if there was anything they'll have cleaned it up," Claire explained, and then added hastily; "But there might not have been blood. There probably wasn't."  
   
Sam rolled his eyes and kept close to Dean. "We don't really care what happened in here, as long as we're going to be safe in our beds," he told her as they walked through to the kitchen. He offered up a silent plea to any ghosts in the vicinity that they keep quiet for now.  
   
"Well nothing like this has ever happened around here before, so I'm pretty sure it was a random thing. Whatever it was. As you can see, the kitchen comes fitted with..."  
   
Sam tuned out all of the technical jargon and focused on the heat of Dean's body, which was pressed up against his own. They were taking care to observe usual 'couple' behaviour, such as holding hands and walking closer than they normally would, but right now Dean seemed to be leaning into him as he listened to Claire and Sam was loving it. He would probably need to get a grip soon—but not just yet.

 

Dean paid attention to what the agent was saying—Sam had his distracted face on. As they rounded a corner, he tensed and nodded towards the far end of the hall, luckily in the opposite direction that Claire was looking. Standing there was who Dean could only assume was the murdered couple, Josh and Amy Porter. They had no visible signs of wounds on them, but Dean knew that if they wanted to, they could appear in full time-of-death ensemble. They just nodded at Sam and Dean, and then vanished right as Claire finished describing the perks of the expansive kitchen. Dean glanced up at Sam, wondering what he thought of the other two tenants, and knew that they were definitely going to take this house.

 

Thankfully the ghosts didn't make another appearance while they were still with Claire. Sam came to the same conclusion as Dean, that they would have to take the house, and they rushed her through the rest of the tour before declaring their satisfaction and demanding to know when they could move in. It was a process that took most of the day, but everyone was eager to have the property inhabited once more and so in the end a lot less money than was originally asked for changed hands. Not that it mattered to the Winchesters; it wasn't their money.  
  
They were set to move in later in the week, as they were keeping the Porters' furniture and a distant relative would be in over the next few days to remove their personal effects, but they returned later that night all the same. If they were going to talk to Amy and Josh, they would need to do it now in case that distant relative took whatever was tying them in place. Sam stood to the side while Dean jimmied the back door, and then went in ahead of him with a flashlight and the EMF reader.   
  
The ghosts were waiting for them.

 

Dean studied the ghosts. They looked like your stereotypical American couple: Blonde woman with a nice figure, and a guy with brown hair, broad shoulders, and probably around 5'8". "Josh and Amy?" he asked. They both nodded. "Can you speak?" Heads shaking. Dean sighed and glanced at Sam. "Well. That makes it a bit harder. Do you know what we are?" Nods. "Okay, was it something supernatural that killed you?" More nods, and Dean sighed. "A shifter? Maybe looked like someone you knew? Maybe the kid you two adopted?" Josh nodded this time, but Amy shook her head. Dean exchanged a confused glance with Sam.

 

"Maybe one question at a time," Sam suggested, watching as the ghosts exchanged their own glance—one of equal parts frustration and irritation. "Was it a shifter, something that could change what it looked like?" Both Josh and Amy nodded. "Was it your child?" This time, they shook their heads. Sam's eyes widened. "Was your child even a shifter?" he asked, and as they nodded again, the lights above their heads started to flicker on and off. The ghost were growing agitated; there wouldn't be much time before they pulled a disappearing act.

 

Dean thought of the Alpha shifter that they'd dealt with when Sam was soulless. "Was it your kid's biological parent?" Frantic nods, and then the lights went black for a moment. When they came back on, Josh and Amy were gone. Dean looked at Sam. "Well, great. Looks like the shifter's using its kid as bait."

 

Sam sighed, already feeling the phantom weight that this job was likely to leave on their shoulders. "You realise that means the kid might not be a willing participant, right?" he hedged. Suddenly, all he could think about was Amy. "If it's being used by the parent, it might not want any of this."

 

Dean nodded. "Probably. Maybe we can get Josh and Amy to talk to us again, get some more detail." He glanced around the house again, and his gaze landed on a photo of Josh and Amy—then a boy—when they were young. He picked it up. "Well," he said, showing the picture to Sam, "now we know what they looked like when they were young. So we know what to look for when we go to the center."

 

Sam looked at the picture with interest, committing the people in it to memory. "I doubt we're going to get any more out of them tonight," he said thoughtfully. "We'll have to come back tomorrow, and hope that whoever's moving the Porters' stuff doesn't take anything important. You wanna go back to the motel and see if they've got a different room?"

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Sam, we're supposed to be a couple. It'll look suspicious if we don't share a bed," he pointed out, not adding that he didn't mind sharing a bed with Sam, not when it meant that he could spend the night with Sam almost as close as Dean wanted.

 

Sam managed to disguise his sigh of relief as a huff of irritation. He hadn't been able to bring himself to share the bed with Dean last night, but after a whole day of being pressed up against him, Sam wanted nothing more. As long as he woke up before Dean and moved, he might even get to snuggle close like he had as a kid.  
  
"Right, of course," Sam muttered, as though he hated the whole set up. "Can we get out of here anyway? I'm starving, and Casper is done playing."

 

Dean nodded, his own stomach giving its agreement. They ate dinner in another diner, again sitting close enough for their elbows to knock against each other's as they ate, and basically reinforced the charade that they were lovers.

Once they were back in the motel room, Dean claimed the shower, and they basically went through their normal nighttime routine. This time, however, when Dean dove under the covers, there was only one set, and Sam was standing on the other side, looking uncertain. Dean opened one eye and studied his little brother. "Well," he said finally. "You gettin in or what?

Sam could have hit his brother. Maybe he had been all for this two hours ago, but now the prospect was terrifying again. What if he slipped up in the night and got caught cuddling Dean—or worse, humping him? Maybe that had been acceptable when Sam was a teenager and couldn't control his hormones or his wet dreams, but Sam was a grown man now and while he definitely had his hormones in check, he wasn't so sure that they had been wholly to blame back then.  
  
But Dean was looking at him as though he would tie Sam down before letting him spend another night slumped over the table, so Sam swallowed his nerves and got under the covers. "Happy?" he demanded. Contrary to what he'd expected, he didn't pop an instant and obvious boner, but it was nice, having a warm body on the other side of the bed. A little too tempting to curl into that warmth and keep it close, perhaps, but that was why Sam was on the edge of the mattress. Now all he had to do was stay there.

 

Dean eyed Sam's precarious position, thought for a moment, then shrugged. He reached over and yanked Sam closer so that they were chest to chest. He looked up into Sam's startled gaze and smirked. "If you fell, you'd take the blankets with you," he said by way of explanation.

 

For a long moment, Sam couldn't move. He was relatively confident that Dean could feel or at least hear the way his heart was pounding against his ribcage, forcing adrenaline through his veins that made his mouth dry and his breath come in fast little pants. All he would have to do was tilt his head just so and they would be kissing. _That_ was enough to have his dick twitching in interest.   
  
Sam shoved at Dean and scooted back so that he was in the middle of his side of the bed. "You're such an asshole," he complained, hoping that Dean wouldn't notice the flush on his cheeks. With some space between them Sam could breathe a little easier, but he still had a feeling that this was a terrible idea.

Dean smirked at the flush on Sam's face, ignoring the stab of disappoint that tried to gut him as he turned so his back was to Sam. "Night, gigantor. Try not to hog the sheets."

Surprisingly, Dean fell asleep almost immediately with the warmth of Sam in the bed with him.

Sam wasn't so fortunate. He stayed awake for several hours, just listening to Dean breathe. It seemed incredibly intimate somehow, and Sam knew he was overthinking things—being a girl, Dean would say—but he couldn't help it. Still, he found himself wondering vaguely if this was how a child was supposed to feel on Christmas Eve: unable to sleep lest they miss something.  
  
He finally passed out around three, and when he woke up, it was to a warm body pressed against his. Sam smiled, still in that liminal state between sleeping and wakefulness, and snuggled closer. Whoever was in his arms, their back to his chest, made an agreeable sound, and Sam sighed, letting bone-deep contentment chase him back into his dreams. 

 

Dean sighed and stretched slightly, pressing back into the warmth that was pressed against his back. He smiled and flipped over so that his front was pressed against the warmth. He cuddled closer, then frowned when he felt something poking his stomach. His eyes widened as he realized— _Oh shit_ —that he was sporting his own morning wood that was no match for— _Holy shit that's Sammy's boner poking him in the stomach._

Dean almost freaked out, but he made himself take a deep breath, inhaling Sam's scent one more time before carefully disentangling his legs and arms and slipping out of the bed and padding to the shower, turning it on as cold as the dial would go.

When Sam woke up again, he was cold. The entire bed was cold. And Dean was gone. _Great_. He could hear the shower running, so he knew Dean hadn't gone too far, but still—it would have been nice to wake up first, spend a little while just revelling in having Dean so close. Maybe he should start setting an alarm...  
  
No. Too weird.  
  
Sighing to himself, Sam rolled onto his back and slipped one hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. Since he was stuck in a cold bed with no sleeping brother to perv on, he might as well take advantage of the situation and deal with the frustration that had been building for the past few days. Just as he started to stroke himself, however, the shower shut off. Sam groaned and dragged his hand back out of his shorts.   
  
"Goddamn it, Dean."

 

Dean toweled off and then wrapped the towel around his waist; he'd forgotten to grab some clothes before he went to get his shower. He came out of the bathroom and raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Surprised you're still in bed, Sammy. Didn't think I wore you out that much," he smirked.

 

Sam fought the urge to throw a pillow at him for being so inconsiderate. Coming out of the bathroom half naked, all steamy and damp? Sam's dick was so hard it hurt. What had he been thinking?   
  
But then, he hadn't been thinking anything—if Dean had any idea that Sam felt the way he did, he'd never show so much as a sliver of skin in Sam's company ever again, and that was _if_ Dean didn't leave him by the side of the road and tell him to stay away for good. So really, Sam couldn't blame him for coming into the room looking like walking, talking sex. Sam could only blame himself for seeing Dean that way.  
  
Speaking of, he needed to get out of there before Dean noticed his predicament. "Yeah, you wore me out with your goddamn snoring," Sam sniped as he swung his legs off the side of the bed furthest from the bathroom. "And stop with the sex jokes, man, it's weird." It wasn't weird, from Dean it was actually expected, but it sure as hell wasn't helping. Sam waited until Dean had his back turned while he shook a pair of jeans out and then made a mad dash for the bathroom, grabbing his duffel along the way. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not that he shut the door a split second before Dean dropped his towel.

 

Dean snickered to himself at Sam's hasty retreat. He was willing to bet that Sam's boner hadn't gone done one millimeter. Belatedly, Dean mused that he should have offered to help Sam—

Actually, no.

That wouldn't have been a good idea at all, because if Sam said yes, even jokingly, Dean wasn't going to back down. And knowing Sam, neither would he. And that would lead to things going further and further until either one of them chickened out or Sam came. And then how the hell were they going to do this case when Sam would be looking at him funny because Dean had sucked his little brother off?

Normally, Sam wasn't one for jerking off in the shower with his brother in the next room. Dean somehow always knew and always ribbed him for it afterwards. Sam had learned early on in his teens that the best way to avoid mortification was to take care of his needs not only in private, but in isolation. However, since they'd taken on this case all of that had gone out of the window, and Sam was currently fucking his fist, images of Dean naked and wet and on his knees just for Sam flashing behind his eyelids until he came so hard he had to slam one hand into the wall to hold himself up. He was so screwed.   
  
He emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later feeling no less on edge, but thankfully sporting no physical evidence of that fact. Dean was dressed, thank God, and Sam offered him an awkward smile. "So what are we doing today?"

 

"Beside jacking off in the shower?" Dean snickered. He'd heard Sam slam his hand on the shower wall, a sure tell when Sam was coming. Dean chose not to think about how he knew just about all of his little brother's tells. "I was thinking that now we go check out the adoption center, and look around, see if there's anything else going on in town."

 

Sam glowered, and this time he did throw a pillow at Dean. "What were you doing, pressing your ear to the door?" he bitched as he sat down on the edge of the bed to pull his boots on. His face was on fire, but that was why he kept his back to Dean. "I don't think we need anything else; this is all we can handle. But maybe someone at the centre knows something. Hey, what if the parent shifter works there?"

 

Dean laughed and hurled the pillow back at Sam. "Bitch, you couldn't be more obvious," he crowed before settling down to lace up his shoes. "And... I don't see why it wouldn't. Not like it couldn't change its appearance when it went to... feed, or whatever. How the hell we gonna find out, though? Can't exactly—Wait." He rummaged in his duffel for a second. "Aha!" he exclaimed, holding up a silver ring. "Perfect! I'll wear this on my hand, and when I shake someone's hand, we'll see if we get a reaction."

 

Sam actually smiled at that, and patted Dean's cheek on his way to the door. "You're not just a pretty face—who knew?" he teased, because to show Dean that he was actually impressed would be to reveal that he still had some kind of weird hero-worship thing going on for his big brother. "Come on, genius. You'll need feeding before we go anywhere."

"Love it when you take control, Sammy," Dean grinned, looping his arm around Sam's waist after he locked the motel room door.

As they walked down the sidewalk to the diner, Dean thought that he could get used to this—but that was a dangerous thought. Because while _he_ may be fine with pretending to be his brother's lover, _Sam_ most definitely was not. Not if the way he was walking stiffly at Dean's side was any indication.

Dean opened the door, and leaned up to whisper, "Relax, Sammy; it's just pretend," in Sam's ear before walking into the diner, trying to ignore how easy it would have been to press a kiss to Sam's ear—and how much Dean had wanted to. But, he had to draw the line somewhere.

Sam thought he stiffened further still at Dean's words—that was the problem, wasn't it?—but he forced himself to relax enough to smile sweetly at the waitress when they entered the diner. Once again they ate side by side, and Sam eased up for real once he'd gotten some coffee in him. So Dean was an asshole—that was nothing new. Sam still loved him, unfortunately. 

 

Well, at least Sam was loosening up now. Dean eyed his "lover" out of the corner of his eye occasionally, but for the most part he just straight out stared at him, fed him bits of food—forcing Sam to eat bacon was entertaining—and basically acted like they were long-time lovers. It was almost scarily easy.

 

After breakfast—which Dean insisted on paying for, to the delight and "aww"'s of the other diners and a spectacular blush from Sam—they went to the center to look around. Dean pulled up the curb, and snorted. "Jesus, could the place  _get_  any more stereotypical?" he griped. 

 

Sam sighed and patted Dean's knee sympathetically. "Let's just hope the kid didn't choose Tracy Beaker to model off this time. Come on." They got out of the car and Sam was quick to slip his hand into Dean's, under absolutely no illusions that he was doing it in order to maintain their 'couple' facade. Dean's palm was warm against his own, and Sam liked it far too much. He was well aware that when this case finally ended, it would crush him. 

 

Dean frowned up at Sam. "Who the hell is Tracy Beaker?" he demanded, twining his fingers with Sam's without thinking about it.

 

Sam flushed. "An absolute shit of a kid. She's a character in a series of books by an English author; they were set in a foster home or something, I don't really remember." He ducked his head, embarrassed. Dean had always teased him for constantly going around with his nose in a book when he was younger, still did now, but even back then they'd mostly been books on lore and ancient magics. The stories he was describing were for kids, and his father certainly hadn't provided him with them. "Whatever. Let's just go in, okay?"

 

"Okay, then." The only reason Dean dropped the issue was because they were at the front door, being ushered inside by a worker who introduced herself as "Mary," a bright, almost nauseatingly bubbly blonde. "Jesus fuck," Dean swore under his breath when Mary's back was turned, as she led them through the center, chattering away. "Annoying little bitch, isn't she?"

 

Sam chuckled and shook his head, although he was in complete agreement. He liked to think of himself as a tolerant person, but there was still a limit to how much giggling he could take. Mary proved useful, however. Once they'd given in their names and expressed their most sincere wish to adopt as soon as possible, she allowed them access to the children. Sam shared a look with Dean. _Score_.  
  
The way Mary had put it, they expected a kind of meet-and-greet, but what they found was very different. Most of the kids spared them a single glance and then went back to what they were doing—playing, drawing, talking; a couple of the older kids were enjoying a game of pool—while some others, presumably the children newest to the centre, watched them curiously. No one approached them.  
  
Over the next half hour or so, Sam and Dean interacted with pretty much every kid in the room. They spent a little time with each, chatting aimlessly and not really listening to the answers, all the while keeping an eye out for a familiar face. They were talking to a girl of around five, who was rambling animatedly about the numerous reasons why green was her favourite colour, when Sam spotted him. "Dean," he murmured, low enough that he went unheeded by the little girl, and nodded imperceptibly in the direction of a boy who was the spitting image of a young Amy.

 

Dean let Sam take over the conversation with the girl as he studied the boy. He looked to be about ten years old—shifters could only assume bodies as old as they were until they reached maturity, then they were as good as immortal—with dirty blonde hair. He had a skinny build—almost made Dean ache with how much he looked like Sammy had at that age—and his head was bowed over a book. He was curled in a corner, his legs tucked up under him and his body curled away from the rest of the kids.

Dean rested a hand on Sam's shoulder before getting up to walk over to the kid. "Hey," he said softly, settling down a few feet away, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.

The kid bit his lip and glanced up, revealing startlingly light eyes. Dean couldn't decide if they were light green or blue. "Hello," the boy whispered.

"What's your name? I'm Dean." Dean smiled softly, keeping his voice relaxed.

"... Dakota," came the soft reply. Dakota still didn't look up as he continued, "You're here to adopt, right?"

"Nope, here to buy a puppy," Dean replied easily, chuckling when the kid's head snapped up, eyes flying open. After a second, Dakota's expression settled into a wary smile, and Dean gestured over to Sam. "I'm here with my boyfriend, Sam. We moved into the area recently, and have wanted to adopt for a while."

Dean and Dakota continued to chat for a while—well, Dean talked, Dakota listened and occasionally murmured something. After several more minutes, Dean motioned Sam over.

Sam nodded to Dean, and thanked the little girl for talking to him before standing up and walking over to his brother and the boy. "Hey babe," he said easily as he sat down beside Dean, without even thinking about it. _Shit_. He gave them both a bright smile, saving the imminent breakdown over how comfortable he was becoming with this for later, and offered the kid his hand. "I'm Sam. What's your name?"

 

"Dakota," he murmured shyly as he quickly pumped Sam's hand once before retreating.

Dean was thankful he had such a good poker face; Sam's easy nickname shocked him as badly as getting electrocuted. And yes, he still remembered what that felt like. Instead, he grinned and leaned against Sam. "I was just talking to Dakota, getting to know him a bit," Dean said, noting how Dakota's eyes fastened on where Dean's hand had wrapped around Sam's waist, looking at the display of affection hungrily. It caused something to twist inside of Dean, but it wasn't disgust, like he expected. Dakota looked... lonely, for lack of a better word. And no wonder, if what Sam and Dean suspected was true. "I'm liking him more and more the more I talk to him," Dean continued, smiling gently when Dakota's startled gaze flew up to meet Dean's eyes.

Sam smiled and leaned into Dean, pleased to have him close. He was noticing all of the same things as his brother; Dakota seemed starved of affection, lost and alone, and Sam understood. His heart ached for the young boy. "Well, we have to go soon, but maybe we could set up a meeting in a few days, just the three of us?" Sam suggested, not surprised when he didn't have to put much effort behind injecting a hopeful tone into his voice. He wanted Dakota to pick them—and not just because he wanted to put a stop to the murders.

 

Dean felt like crying at the tampered hope in Dakota's eyes. He knew exactly why Dakota didn't want to hope: If Sam and Dean adopted him, they'd be dead within the year. But still, the young shifter nodded, and Dean felt himself break out into a smile. "Then we'll set up a meeting," he said happily.

When Dean and Sam were leaving, after speaking to Mary's boss and arranging to take Dakota out on an outing, both Winchesters were lost in thought. At least until Dean glanced up and caught the eye of a stern-faced older woman, who was studying them intently. Dean nudged Sam with an elbow and walked over, holding out his hand, the one with the silver ring on it. "Hello," he said, his tone friendly.

The woman smiled tightly and took Dean's hand, barely managing to shake it before she pulled away with a sharp gasp. "You have quite a grip," she said archly, massaging her hand where the ring had burned her. Sam had to admit he was impressed; she covered her pain pretty well. He wondered how often she came into contact with silver in a place like this. "My name is Mrs. Stewart; I'm a social worker here."  
  
Sam placed a hand on the small of Dean's back for no apparent reason whatsoever, and smiled his best fake smile at the bitch. "Hi, I'm Sam and this is Dean. He doesn't know his own strength." He laughed as though this was a daily struggle they faced. "Do you know Dakota? We've just arranged to take him out for the day."  
  
Mrs. Stewart shook her head, although the glimmer of interest in her eyes was poorly hidden. "I'm responsible for the older children, but I'm glad you've taken a shine to him; he seems a sweet child but very lonely." Sam nodded, and Mrs. Stewart gave them another insincere smile. "Well, it was nice to meet you. I'll let you be on your way."

 

"Nice to meet you, too," Dean said as they moved away. "Bitch," he added under his breath once they were out of earshot. "Gotta say, she hid it pretty well. Now we just need to get Dakota, and then wait." He was glad that Sam hadn't moved his hand from Dean's back; it was grounding, reminding Dean of exactly why he shouldn't care about that young shifter, and why he should want this case over—and all shifters involved dead—as soon as possible, so that he could get out of this charade before Sam thought that Dean was just a little too good at pretending.

 

Sam hummed in agreement, his mind already spinning with possibilities. There was no evidence to suggest that the lonely little boy they'd just met wasn't as fake as the big gay love Dean supposedly had for Sam, but he was inclined to buy into it—and if that was the case; if the young shifter really was as miserable with this setup as he seemed...  
  
"I think we should make it known that we intend to move soon," Sam said as they reached the car. "It takes almost a year for Mrs. Stewart or whatever to come calling, and we don't have that kind of time. Maybe if she thinks we're leaving with her kid she'll bump us up her schedule."

 

Dean worried his lower lip as they walked down the sidewalk to the Impala. "Yeah, I think that would work. She wouldn't want to lose her source of food." He was quiet as they separated to get into the Impala, and he already missed the warmth of Sam's hand. "So where are we gonna take Dakota?"

 

Sam shrugged. He wasn't exactly an expert on what normal ten year olds liked to do. Then again, he didn't suppose any kid forced into the system again and again, just to watch as each set of adopted parents were slaughtered, could be normal. "I don't know. The park? The movies?" He grimaced. "Anywhere but that shithole you used to take me to."

Dean threw a grin at Sam. "Park and movies sound good," he said thoughtfully as he pulled away from the curb. "Might as well throw in dinner as well."

That night, when the two of them were eating out, one of the waitresses asked how long they were planning on staying in town. "Well, we're only renting a house," Dean replied. "So we probably won't be in town for too long; less than a year, certainly."

Sam nodded, playing along. "Hopefully we'll be able to adopt soon, and then we'll only stick around until school gets out for summer." He slid a hand onto Dean's thigh and smiled adoringly at him. "We want to travel before we find somewhere to settle down, don't we?"

Dean grinned. "Yes, we do; we haven't seen everything the world can throw at us, yet," he replied, and what he did next seriously made him doubt his sanity: He leaned over and pressed his lips to Sam's cheek, withdrawing quickly. He employed his best poker face once more, grinning at the waitress who was cooing about "what a cute couple you two are!" and transferring his attention to his pie, his pulse jackhammering through his veins. 

Holy shit.

What had he just done?

There wasn't much in the world that could phase Sam anymore, but this threw him for a loop. He didn't even see it coming, and was so stunned that he couldn't react; he just sat there, cheeks ablaze, and stared at his food. He couldn't look at Dean, couldn't see the dopy 'I'm so in love' face he seemed to have been perfecting over the last few days and he definitely couldn't see the mocking smirk that would replace it once the waitress left. Just the knowledge that Dean was probably going to start making retching noises as soon as they left the diner was making him want to slam his head against the table.   
  
It also kind of made him want to cry.

Dean saw the look on Sam's face, but it was such a mixture of emotions that Dean had a hard time sorting out what was there. He definitely saw hurt, and upset, and... was that regret? Dean's stomach lurched, threatening to send back his dinner, and he quickly paid the tab and left the diner with Sam.

He made it to the car, and then sighed, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, not wanting to see the disgust that he was sure would be on Sam's face, in his eyes, free to be directed at Dean now that they were in private.

Sam didn't look over at Dean until he heard his words, and what he saw surprised him. His brother looked dejected, and resigned—like he expected Sam to freak now that they were alone, which was ridiculous. Sure, Sam was miserable and hurting in the aftermath of Dean's stunt, but it wasn't like he could voice that. A normal Sam, a Sam that wasn't crazy about his brother, wouldn't be bothered at all. So he did the only thing he could think of.  
  
"Dude, it's fine. All part of the facade, right?" he laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Just give me a little warning next time."

 

Dean huffed out a laugh that was as hollow as Sam's. "Sure. Sure. Because that's what normal couples do, give each other warnings," he chuckled weakly. But he started the Impala all the same, and drove back to the hotel. As soon as he parked, he handed the room key over to Sam. "I'm going to go—walk," he said, not waiting for a reply before he headed off. He needed some time to think, to remind himself that Sam was his  _brother_ , for Christ's sake.

 

Sam watched Dean go, feeling uncertainty twisting in his gut. Why was Dean being so weird? Was acting all couply with Sam making him miss Lisa? Or was it something else entirely? Dean had been off since they'd left the adoption centre—perhaps this was about Dakota. Sam knew that Dean's instinct was to kill whatever supernatural creature crossed his path, but a stronger man than the both of them put together would have melted at the look on that little boy's face.   
  
Deciding that he would give Dean some time to think about it alone, Sam turned and let himself into the room. He sat up and waited for an hour or so, assuming that they would be going back to talk to the Porters once Dean returned, but at last he gave up and went to bed. Without the stress of sharing with his brother, sleep came a lot easier than it had last night, but it was nowhere near as restful.

When Dean finally went back to the motel room—around midnight or so—he just stopped and stared at Sam's sleeping form hungrily. He wanted—he wanted so _badly_ —to climb into that bed with Sam. However, today had proved that that was most decidedly _not_ a good idea; definitely not if Dean wanted to keep his sick, inappropriate love a secret, and keep Sam by his side.

His throat working convulsively, Dean sat down in one of the chairs beside the table, resting his elbows on the table and crossing his arms before sighing and laying his forehead against his arms. The tension of the past few days caught up with him, and Dean fell asleep slumped over the table, just feet away from where he wanted to be.

Sam woke up feeling like he hadn't slept at all, and when he looked over and saw that he was alone in the bed, he knew why. _Pathetic_. He sat up, resigned to spending the day searching for Dean instead of moving forward with the job, but then he spotted him, fast asleep with his head on the table. Sam sighed. What the hell was going on with his brother?  
  
Half an hour later, Sam set a styrofoam cup of coffee in front of Dean and nudged him awake. "Come on, man," he murmured, resisting the sudden urge to press his lips to Dean's temple. "Up and at 'em." Sam wanted to demand to know where Dean had gone last night, why he'd taken off like that and why he hadn't come to bed, but he also knew he wasn't going to get any answers until Dean had showered away the ache in his neck from sleeping like that. His concern would have to wait. 

Dean flapped a hand half-heartedly at Sam, then sighed happily when he smelled the coffee. "God, I love you," he announced as he seized the styrofoam cup. He downed several swallows of the hot liquid, then winced as he rolled his shoulders. "Shower," he decided, drinking the rest of the coffee.

Once he was done showering, he came from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and immediately headed for his duffel to grab some clothes. "So, we're moving in today, correct?" he asked as he quickly slid into a pair of boxers.

Sam averted his gaze, focusing intently on the empty but suddenly fascinating cup in his hands. "That's right," he confirmed. "And then we have dinner with Alicia tonight. I got a text from Josh's aunt that said she'd be done getting their stuff out in a few hours. Gives us plenty of time to go shopping for our own stuff." He hesitated then, choosing his words carefully. "I don't suppose you payed a visit to Josh and Amy while you were out and about last night?"

 

Dean glanced over at Sam, but looked away before he could decipher the look on Sam's face. "No, I was just out walking," he said, his tone even. He'd been too distracted by his thoughts to really _go_ anywhere; just wander around the neighborhood.

 

Sam sighed. He was going to have to bite the bullet on this one. "Dean, is everything okay, man?" he asked, holding up a hand. "I know you don't like talking about your feelings but if there's something going on with you, I can help. Is it about Dakota?"

 

Dean shrugged. "It's just this whole damn case," he said, sounding frustrated. "Pretending that we're in love, adopting a _shifter_ , moving into a cookie-cutter house in fucking Suburbia, USA, it's not what we _do_." Dean rubbed a hand over his forehead before yanking on a pair of pants and a shirt. He could deal with the other stuff, but it was just too damned painful to act like he and Sam were in love when it was only true for one half of the team.

 

Sam swallowed hard, feeling decidedly sick. He was well aware that Dean was hating every second of this, but it still hurt to hear him say it. "What we _do_ is whatever it takes to get the job done," he mumbled around the lump in his throat. "I know it sucks, but it won't last for long and then we'll be back on the road, only staying in one town long enough to salt and burn a corpse, and you'll never have to touch me again. Okay?"

 

Dean could hear how much Sam was looking forward to the end of this job in Sam's voice. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah, I know," he muttered. Taking a deep breath, he forced an easy smile to his face. "C'mon, let's go get some breakfast before we pick up some stuff for the house," he said, clapping Sam on the back as he headed out the door.

 

They got through breakfast without incident, largely because Dean kept his distance and didn't touch him once while they ate. The waitress gave Sam a sympathetic, 'trouble in paradise?' smile that made him want to throw up; he didn't look at her again. After what could possibly be the most awkward half hour of Sam's life, they paid and went on their way.  
  
Sam didn't mention Dean's behaviour, and neither did Dean, but his mood did seem to improve once they'd been on the road for a little while. They found a store just outside of town and spent a good hour piling the essentials into a cart: salt, paint for devil's traps, and a new set of cutlery to name a few. Dean protested at that point that they had a perfectly good set of silver cutlery in the trunk, but as Sam pointed out, they already knew who the shifters were and one of them was going to be living with them. Whether he thought Dakota was evil or not, Dean conceded that to torture the kid wouldn't be very hospitable.  
  
Once they had everything they needed, Sam insisted that they go around the store again to pick up some homey stuff, but at the look on Dean's face, sent him to do the grocery shopping. It was actually kind of fun, picking up bed linen and washing up liquid and little trinkets that would just make the house theirs. It wasn't theirs, and Sam knew that, but it couldn't hurt to pretend, at least for the benefit of their neighbours—and that would be the argument to put to Dean when he found the 'his and his' towels Sam had just added to his purchases.  
  
They met up a little while later and loaded the stuff into the car. Sam could admit that he'd gone a little nuts but it wasn't their money, so he stood his ground under Dean's gaze and just shrugged. It wasn't a big deal. As they were sliding into their respective seats up front, a text came through from Josh's aunt to say that she had cleared out of the house and wouldn't be back. Sam showed it to Dean with a wry smile.   
  
"Let's go home, baby."

Shopping with Sam had been hell. It reminded Dean over and over and over again, with every item tossed into the cart, that this was all pretend. Still, he sucked it up and pasted a grin on his face. "Sure thing, sweetheart," he tossed back at Sam as he put the Impala in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for their new temporary home.

Once they arrived at the house, they started unloading what they'd bought at the WalMart. Sam seemed to enjoy the whole "homemaking" business, and it made Dean ache that he couldn't give Sam the normal life his little brother craved. He hid it, however, teasing Sam and calling him a girl, even slapping him on the ass once, which promptly led to a wrestling bout in their new living room. Sam won, but only because the fucker had about four extra inches of leverage on him.

Dean glared up at Sam, who was laying on top of Dean, their legs entwined and locked down so Dean couldn't use them to lift up and throw Sam off, and Sam's hands were pinning Dean's above his head on the carpet. "Enjoying yourself?" he huffed.

Sam was enjoying himself alright—a little bit too much. His heart was pounding in his chest and having Dean pinned beneath him was making his body react in ways it really shouldn't. He needed to move, fast. Barely managing a long-suffering sigh, he rolled off and away to stand up on legs shaky with nerves and adrenaline. Had Dean felt his erection? Could he see it?  
  
"That was way too easy; you're out of practice," Sam mumbled, with a smirk that didn't feel right on his face. "Why don't you quit screwing around and find us something to eat? I need the bathroom." His exit from the room was swift and probably highly suspect, but Sam needed to get out of there before he did something stupid like slam Dean up against the nearest vertical surface and kiss him stupid. He found the bathroom and locked the door behind him, sitting on the closed toilet seat with his head in his hands. What the fuck was he doing?

Dean watched Sam disappear down the hall, and he sighed to himself, sternly telling Dean, Jr., to settle down. He _really_ hoped Sam hadn't seen the bulge in his pants before he'd left.

As he rooted through the kitchen for ingredients for a quick lunch, he mentally kicked himself. He really needed to quit inviting Sam into his personal space; one of these days it was going to get him into trouble. He grimaced, thinking he'd better make the most of the next few days; if all went well, they'd be bringing Dakota home by the end of the week as a foster until the adoption was finalized later this month, since Sam and Dean had already gotten the paperwork rolling.

Sam stayed where he was for a few minutes while he calmed his body down, not daring to jerk off lest Dean somehow know about it like he always did and put two and two together. Christ, but this was getting ridiculous. If he didn't get a grip soon, jerking off wouldn't be necessary to clue Dean in as to what was going on with Sam. The house only had two bedrooms; he and Dean would once again be sharing a bed, at least after Dakota arrived if not before, and all it would take would be for them to wake up all smushed together one morning and for Dean to feel the way Sam reacted to the proximity, and that would be it. Sam would be left on his ass at the side of the road, if Dean didn't kill him outright, and they'd never see each other again.  
  
It was no good. As much as Sam was enjoying this pretend relationship with Dean, he'd rather give it up to save his real one than lose both. They would just have to find a way to bring the parent shifter out into the open sooner rather than later, so that they could end this job and let everything get back to normal.  
  
When Sam joined Dean in the kitchen, he managed to offer a weak smile. "How's it goin'?" he asked innocently, moving to lean against the fridge. "Heard anything from our otherworldly house guests?"

 

Dean didn't look up, too busy muttering and kicking the stove. "Unless they're the ones keeping this stove from working, then no," he scowled, giving the stove a resounding kick and grinning when it started up. "Ah ha! How do ya feel about soup, Sammy?" Dean asked, tossing a grin over his shoulder.

 

Sam's smile was a little more genuine this time; Dean's grin had always been contagious. "Soup sounds good," he answered, ignoring the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. What was he, a thirteen year old girl? 

"Good, cuz that's all I'm making. If we're staying here, I'm getting a better fucking stove," Dean replied, grinning and turning back to the pots on the stovetop, ignoring the swooping feeling in his stomach. Sam was the girl, not him.

Lunch was uneventful, and they spent the afternoon laying down protections until it was finally time to go to dinner at Alicia's. Sam insisted on them dressing nicely, and Dean scowled at his reflection. Sam had wrestled him into a pair of slacks and a dress shirt that was a darker shade of green that complimented his eyes—not that he'd ever say so out loud. He frowned and tugged at his sleeves, rolling them up over his elbows. "Stupid shirt," he muttered.

"Hey," Sam scolded, smirking over at Dean as he buttoned up his own shirt, which was a deep blue. "Stop complaining. That's a nice shirt." It was more than nice. Dean looked so hot, dressed to impress in simple but smart clothes. Sam eyed him up while he continued to fuss with his sleeves, and felt his mouth go dry. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Sam was definitely going to have difficulty keeping his hands off of Dean tonight.

 

Dean's scowl deepened, and he glanced up, mouth opening to snipe back at Sam, but he froze when he saw the look in Sam's eyes through the reflection in the mirror. His mouth snapped shut as he realized that Sam looked... hungry. He swallowed, a dry click in his throat and an answering heat in his gut as he managed to reply, "Keep that look for the show, Sammy. Gotta convince Alicia and Leia that we're starving for each other, not me." He grinned at Sam before finishing fiddling with his clothes and walking past Sam, clapping him on the shoulder. "Cmon, Sammy, let's go. Free food's a-waiting!"

 

Sam felt sick as they walked the short distance to Alicia's home. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Dean had noticed. Thankfully, he'd passed it off as a joke, but Sam had seen the tension in his eyes. Dean knew something was up, and if Sam got caught again, he'd be as good as dead.  
  
Still, he pushed all of his fears to the back of his mind as Alicia opened the door, and plastered a smile onto his face. "Hey," he greeted her, holding up the bottle he'd bought at the store earlier that day. "We brought wine. How are you?"

"How thoughtful! Come in, come in," Alicia invited. "Kids! 'Mere!" she shouted down the front hall, and two kids—both boys about nine and ten years old—popped their heads around the corner. "Mark and Jason," Alicia said, pointing to the nine-year-old, then the ten. "And Leia's in the kitchen, finishing up dinner."

"Great," Dean said, smiling as he easily stepped closer to Sam, just as if they were a real couple. They walked down the hall, and Alicia ushered them into the dining room, shouting at the kids to "GET YOUR LAZY TAILS DOWN HERE AND HELP WITH THE FOOD, OR YOU WON'T EAT! NOT EVEN OUT OF THAT STASH IN YOUR BEDROOM!" Dean couldn't help snickering.

Sam laughed with Dean, feeling some of the weight he'd been carrying lately lift from his shoulders. It was kind of difficult to be miserable in an atmosphere like this; the whole house exuded 'happy' and 'wholesome'. "Is there anything we can do to help?" Sam asked Alicia, and grinned at the children as they came into the room. They were cute kids, but they looked kind of uncertain; Sam found himself wondering if they'd known Dakota when he'd been the Porters' child.

Dean grinned at the two kids. "Hey, I'm Dean, this is Sam," Dean said, wrapping an arm around Sam's waist. Both kids grinned, and then Alicia shooed them into the kitchen to help bring stuff out.

"No, you don't need to do anything; the kids and I will bring stuff out," she assured the Winchesters. "Go ahead and sit down." Dean grinned and tugged Sam over to the table and pushed him into a chair, and then sat down next to him.

Sam sent Dean a quizzical smile, once again ignoring the happy glow inside him. "You having fun, manhandling me?" he teased, because he didn't know what else to do. He kind of liked being pushed around by Dean, but Dean couldn't know that. 

Dean grinned cheekily at Sam, reaching over to pat him on the cheek. "Considering you pinned me this morning, yes," he smirked.

Alicia laughed as she, Leia, Mark, and Jason all re-entered the dining room, each bearing plates and bowls. "You two are adorable," Alicia announced, depositing her food on the table. "How long have you been together?"

Sam looked over at Alicia with wide eyes. He couldn't remember the story they'd decided on, so he just started talking and prayed that Dean would play along. "Almost eight years," he said with a smile. "We've known each other pretty much our whole lives, and I've been in love with him since I was seventeen, but it took him a while to catch on." He leaned into Dean briefly, smiling like he was the happiest guy on the planet instead of the most fucked up. "It was worth all those years spent listening to emo music in my bedroom."

 

"Dude, you _still_ listen to emo music in your bedroom," Dean snickered, giving Sam a playful shove. He ignored the slight—almost constant, since this job started—ache in his chest as he continued, "Yeah, we knew each other for pretty much forever, but I guess I only realized I was in love with him maybe two years before we hooked up, when he went to college. I never did; I hung around home—" read: the Impala and Dad—"and helped my Dad with his mechanic shop."

 

Sam's heart was racing. It seemed that Dean was employing the same strategy of 'stick as close to the truth as possible'—far closer to the truth than ever before, in Sam's case—and as much as it hurt to hear Dean say those things, it was also exciting. In short, Sam couldn't stop. "Of course, it took him two years to come and tell me," he laughed. "His dad was sick, and Dean needed me, so I left straight away. College was always something that I wanted, but I moved so far away mostly because I was trying to run from my feelings. Nothing messes up a friendship faster than 'I love you', right? But once I knew how Dean felt, there was no competition." Sam shrugged, and said honestly, "I never looked back."

Dean smiled sadly. "Wish I could say the same for myself. I always knew I was bi, but actually dating a guy? I will admit there were several times I got a bit freaked out. But, luckily, this son of a—gun, here, stuck with me." He grinned at Sam. "Glad he did."

Alicia smiled at them, and reached over to take Leia's hand, squeezing it before passing over the mashed potatoes. "Leia and I met in a bar, actually. We were both wasted, hooked up, and in the morning-after awkwardness, we both invited each other out to a date at the same time." She and Leia laughed, and Dean couldn't help grinning.

The rest of the evening passed without incident. There was much praise of Leia's fantastic cooking over dinner, and after the kids were put to bed, it was revealed that they had, indeed, known the Porters and their child. Apparently they'd been pretty close, but some subtle prodding revealed no useful information, so they dropped it. Instead, they fielded a few more, thankfully less complicated, questions about their relationship while all four of them sat in the living room with a glass of wine each, and asked Alicia and Leia a few of their own. The two women were genuinely nice people, easy to get along with, and Sam was glad to have met them.  
  
Still, as they walked home later on, he couldn't help feeling morose. Dean had spent a good portion of the night spelling out every one of Sam's domestic fantasies, letting them drip easily off his tongue like a piece of Sam's heart didn't break away with each lie. How many times during his brief stint at Stanford had Sam wished that Dean would come to his senses and turn up, just to whisk him away for a life filled with hot sex and long, slow kisses? The way Dean had told it to Alicia, he'd been heartbroken when Sam had left, but Sam knew better. Dean hadn't been sad; he'd been pissed off enough to not speak to Sam at all in the two years before their dad went missing.   
  
By the time they got into the house that was temporarily serving as their home, Sam just wanted to go to bed and sleep for a week. He turned to Dean, careful to keep his expression neutral, and found he was unable to look him in the eye. "You did good tonight," he mumbled to the hardwood floor. "I'll see you in the morning."  
  
It was only when he got upstairs and shut the bedroom door behind him that he realised his mistake. The other bedroom was kitted out for a young boy to sleep in. _Great_. Drained of the energy to care, Sam didn't even get undressed before he flopped down face-first onto the bed, leaving enough space for Dean if he decided to join him, and fell asleep.

Dean felt exhausted. He didn't feel like he had the energy to much else besides flop onto bed, but the look on Sam's face—just as exhausted as Dean, and maybe just a bit hurt, too—gave him enough pause that by the time he came to his senses, the door to what was supposed to be their bedroom was swinging shut behind Sam.

Dean hesitated, but he finally decided that he wasn't going to sleep on the couch in these clothes, so he was at least going to get changed. He climbed the stairs and then tested the knob, relieved to find it unlocked. He gently pushed the door open and slipped inside the room. "Sam?" he called quietly.

Sam didn't answer. He was already fast asleep, lying on top of the covers with his back to Dean and the other side of the bed, curled in on himself as though he had something precious to protect. And perhaps, in a sense, he did. His secret—his heart. In his dreams, Dean had discovered one and broken the other, laughing in his face and calling him scum for wanting his big brother in such a disgusting way. Sam had stopped having visions years ago, but he knew that what he saw as he slept that night may well have been prophetic.

 

Dean frowned at Sam's self- protective position, and he quickly shucked out of his clothes and eased the covers out from under Sam, laying them over Sam before Dean climbed in the other side. He lay on his side for a while, just watching Sam sleep and debating whether or not to reach out and touch him. In the end, Dean decided screw it—Not like they hadn't shared a bed before. He scooted closer and carefully laid a hand on Sam's side, waiting to make sure that Sam wasn't going to flinch away from him before pressing himself against Sam's back and laying a chaste—well, as chaste as could be, considering the circumstances—kiss against the nape of Sam's neck. "I've got you, Sammy," he murmured against the younger Winchester's skin, closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.

 

When Sam woke up, he thought for a moment that he was still dreaming—except that this was a good dream. He was in Dean's arms, face pressed into the crook of his neck, and it felt _amazing_. Dean even smelt good, of home and safety and love. Even if Dean would never love him in the way Sam wanted, Dean _did_ love him. Maybe he would get his ass kicked for it later, dream or not, but Sam couldn't resist. He snuggled closer, just as he had at the motel, and went back to sleep.

Dean made a disgruntled sound when something bumped against his chest, but he settled back down to sleep, only to wake up a few minutes later. He frowned, thinking, for a moment, wondering what on earth was wrapped around him.

Then he remembered the night before. Sam lying in bed, his almost-hurt expression... right. Dean was in bed with Sam. After dinner and the following conversation with Alicia and Leia the night before, however, Dean found he wasn't particularly in a mood to care about the fact that Sam was using him as a full-body pillow. Craning his head back, he looked at the clock and swore softly. "Sammy, wake up," he murmured, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Sam's temple—telling himself that Sam was asleep, so he wouldn't remember it. "Cmon, Sasquatch. Time for coffee."

Sam roused reluctantly. His dream about Dean holding him was still going, and Dean had just brushed his lips against his forehead—but then he was pulling away, saying something about coffee as he extricated himself from Sam's arms. Sam opened his eyes. _What?_  
  
"Uh yeah, yeah, I'm up," he mumbled, rolling over so that Dean wouldn't see him bringing his hand up to the place where he was sure he'd felt his brother's lips mere moments ago. As expected, there was no evidence of a kiss, and Sam couldn't even convince himself that the spot was warmer than the rest of his skin. Just a dream, then. "Go get the coffee on; I want to take a shower," Sam added, and hoped that he didn't sound as disappointed as he felt.

 

Sam sounded a bit odd, but Dean wrote it off as morning grogginess. He leaned over and ruffled Sam's hair affectionately. "All right, Sammy. Don't take all the hot water, bitch," he chuckled, rolling out of bed and not bothering to put any more clothes on, walking out of the bedroom and to the kitchen in nothing but his boxers. He fiddled with the new coffee machine, finally getting it to cooperate, and while it set about brewing a pot of coffee, he decided to make a stop by the bathroom to take care of the not-so-little problem that had made itself known this morning.

 

Dean wasn't the only one with a problem to take care of. Seeing as there were two floors in their current place of residence, rather than just two rooms, Sam took the chance that Dean was just weirdly in tune with his bodily functions and jerked off in the shower. It was good, but it didn't fully satisfy the empty ache in his gut that had been left behind by his dream. Sex, or the lack thereof, was definitely a source of frustration, but it wasn't the only one.  
  
When Sam finally made it downstairs, dressed and with his wet hair hanging limply around his face, he felt a little better, but he still fell upon the coffee. Dean was walking around practically naked and he needed the distraction. "So," he began, gaze fixed firmly on Dean's face over the rim of his mug. "What's the plan today?"

 

Dean shrugged, pouring a bit of whiskey into his own coffee. "Not sure. Guess we could go hunt around, see if we could dig up any more info on Josh and Amy's deaths. We've still got the suits and FBI ID, so we could use those. We never told anyone what we do for a living, and we haven't met all that many people, so if we run into someone, we could say that yes, we do want to adopt, but we also have a job to do."

 

It took Sam a moment to react, but at last he shook his head and swallowed hard. "I don't think we should rock the boat too much," he said. "We don't want to alert the adult shifter to the fact that people are poking around; she might decide to lay low and then who knows how long it'll be before she comes to kill us? No, I think we should stay in today." He glanced pointedly at the bottle of whiskey Dean had just set down. "And talk about that."

 

Dean's eyebrows raised in surprise. "What? Whaddaya mean, 'talk about that'?" He looked back up at Sam quizzically. Sam knew Dean always had a bit of whiskey in his coffee.

 

Sam sighed. "It's whatever o'clock in the morning, Dean. Is it really necessary?" Maybe this wasn't the best line of conversation to pursue, and maybe it wasn't the best time to be pursuing it—Sam probably should have said something a long time ago—but there had been other things to worry about before. Right now, the case could go nowhere until they saw Dakota again; if the focal point was between Dean's apparent dependency on alcohol and Sam's unrequited love for him, it was a no-brainer.

 

"Seriously? Dude, I always have whiskey in my coffee. I know how to handle my liquor," Dean scowled, idly swirling his cup before finally taking a defiant gulp when he was done speaking. "Besides, it's just a bit of whiskey, not like I'm always going out and getting hammered." He eyed Sam suspiciously; why was he kicking up a fuss now?

 

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, Dean could handle his liquor—but wasn't that kind of the problem? "Look, man, I know you've had a lot to deal with these last few... years. I get that sometimes you just need a drink. But when was the last time you got through a full day stone-cold sober?"

 

Dean opened his mouth to reply—and abruptly closed it. Sam had a point. Dean hadn't gone a full day without having a drink since Bobby had died. He glanced down at his mug, and then back up at Sam. "Does it bother you?" he asked softly.

 

Sam's expression softened with the tone of Dean's voice. "A little," he admitted, although they both knew it was an understatement. "I didn't want to say anything at first because I know our lives suck and if it helped you, then who was I to take that away? And then it was just never the right time to bring it up. But watching you stir whiskey into your morning coffee... It scares me. I want you to be healthy, Dean. I can't watch you drink yourself into oblivion."

 

Dean set his mug down, but he didn't remove his hands from it as he thought. He hadn't thought he was drinking that much—yeah, it was more consistently, but he didn't think the quantity had increased—but it was still enough to bother Sam. And Dean would do anything to keep Sam happy. "All right," he said, standing and carrying his mug to the sink and dumping the rest before pouring himself another mug of coffee. "I can't promise no more alcohol, but I can promise I'll try to tone it down, okay? Besides, with Dakota coming, even if he is a shifter, it still wouldn't do for him or a social worker or neighbor to see one of the new fathers constantly drinking."

 

Sam's smile was one of old; the smile of a young boy whose awesome big brother was the centre of his universe. That was still the case, of course, but Sam hardly ever let it show. "Thank you," he murmured, his eyes shining. Even now, when they were in their thirties and had seen and done things more terrible than most people could imagine, Dean always made the right choice. 

 

Dean tried to ignore the swooping feeling in his stomach when Sam smiled at him, but he failed miserably, a matching grin stealing over his face. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss Sam—but that was a huge no-no. He glanced back down at his coffee, trying desperately to think of a distraction that didn't involve them naked. "Wanna go get a gaming system?" he finally settled for blurting out.

 

Sam huffed out a surprised laugh, but his smile only got wider. They hadn't played video games together since Sam was a kid, long before Dean developed an interest in girls and Sam developed an interest in Dean. Maybe some brotherly bonding time would be exactly what he needed to get his mind off of the inviting shade of pink that was the colour of Dean's lips. "Hell yes," he agreed, feeling his competitive streak flare to life. "But I hope you know I'm gonna kick your ass."

Dean snorted. "In your dreams, lover boy," he retorted.

They went to the store and bought an Xbox 360—and, since they had the money, a PS3. They also got a bunch of games for both systems, including The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim, Assassin's Creed, Halo and Call of Duty: Black Ops. Getting the systems set up once they got home was an adventure in and of itself, but finally it was done. Dean grinned and picked up a controller, popping in Halo. "Ready to lose?"

Sam flopped down onto the couch beside Dean, a sixpack of coke pointedly settled between them. Already he could feel himself relaxing, the prospect of spending the day just hanging out like normal brothers who didn't have a lifetime's worth of grief and unrequited love between them too wonderful to resist. He snagged the other controller and actually stuck his tongue out at Dean. "Bring it on, asshole."

Dean laughed. He called Player 1, cause he was the older brother, and started up the game.

"No, no, no, no, no!" he shouted, throwing his hands up as he got stuck on something he couldn't even see and Sam—with an evil laugh, the big fucker—killed him. Dean glared at Sam. "You evil little son of a bitch," he swore, launching himself at Sam and wrestling him to the floor.

Sam was laughing too hard to put up a decent fight, and before he knew it he was flat on his back, pinned by Dean's weight. He grinned up at his brother, eyes wet with mirth, and tried to buck him off—which achieved nothing but bringing Dean's hip perfectly into line with Sam's crotch. They both froze; Sam felt his dick twitch and start to harden.  
  
Trapped and scared, he doubled his efforts to break free, and finally succeeded in throwing Dean to the floor. Sam scrambled to his feet. "Dude," he panted, flushed. "Do you have to turn everything into a display of your masculinity? I need a drink." Forgetting all about his half-empty can of coke on the coffee table, he turned and fled.

 

Dean _knew_ he hadn't imagined it that time; Sam had started to get hard when Dean pinned him. He sat, frozen and shocked, on the floor for another moment before lunging to his feet, pausing the game, and walking to the door to the kitchen. "Sammy?" he called cautiously, not wanting to upset Sam any more than he already was. "Sam, it's fine. I'm not mad at you."

 

Sam was standing at the sink, a glass of water in hand, and he flinched when he heard Dean's voice. If Dean wasn't mad, then that only meant he hadn't worked it out yet. It was just a matter of time now.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam lied, but his voice shook, betraying him. He sighed. "Just leave me alone."

 

Dean hesitated at the door, but then walked into the kitchen, laying a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam. Man, you can't control when you get hard all the time. I promise, I'm not mad, or upset, or whatever you think. You'd have to do a lot worse than get a hard-on while we're wrestling to get me mad about anything you do."

 

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, not looking at Dean but not shrugging his hand away either. Dean wouldn't be saying that if he knew the full story, but Sam was in no hurry to clue him in. "Okay. I'm sorry, man."

 

Dean rubbed Sam's shoulder, wishing he knew what was going on in his brother's mind. "C'mon, we got a game to finish," he said, smiling slightly. "Then dinner, okay?"

 

Sam nodded and managed a smile, turning his head so that Dean could see it. "Okay," he agreed, and they walked back into the living room together. He felt a little better as he picked up his controller and patted Dean's leg reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on you this time."

 

"Bitch," Dean complained good-naturedly. Sam still soundly trounced Dean, and Dean finally gave up in frustration, announcing he was gonna go make dinner, which was tomato soup and grilled cheeses. Afterwards, Dean and Sam played some more video games—no way were they giving up this when they went back to the bat cave—before heading up to go to bed. Dean hesitated at the bottom of the stairs for a moment. "If you want, Sam, I can—" he offered, gesturing vaguely to the couch. Sam was clearly uncomfortable with them being in close proximity to each other, and Dean didn't want to make Sam any more uncomfortable than necessary.

 

Sam rolled his eyes. Maybe them sharing a bed would probably get him into a lot of trouble one day soon, the sofa would kill Dean's back and Sam quite liked the company. "Don't be such a martyr," he teased, and started up the stairs, hoping that he would manage to stay on his own side of the bed tonight.

 

Dean grinned, secretly relieved, as he climbed the stairs behind Sam. Once they got up to the bedroom, Dean shucked out of his clothes and climbed into the bed, waiting for Sam to join him. Once he did, Dean flopped over on his stomach. "Night Sam," he mumbled, already half-asleep.

 

Sam rolled onto his side, facing away from Dean with a hand tucked beneath the pillow, and told himself that he could have this. He could share a bed with his brother for the duration of this case, and he could enjoy this easy companionship even after they returned to the bat cave, and it would be enough. But what had happened today, on the floor in the living room with Dean above him, able to feel Sam hard and wanting, could never happen again.   
  
It was a long time after Dean's breathing had evened out that Sam dared to speak around the lump in his throat. "Goodnight, Dean."

When Dean woke up, there was something plastered to his back and draped over his waist. He was still half-asleep, still half-immersed in the dream he'd been having where he and Sam were on a hunt, like normal, except for one major difference: They were lovers.

Dean murmured sleepily and stretched, arching his back and purring when his ass encountered a pleasant surprise. "Mm, morning," he purred, rubbing his ass back against the cock behind him.

Sam moaned, barely on the edge of consciousness, and tightened his arm around Dean's waist. He was having that dream again; the one where they were in love and this sort of thing was acceptable. "Mornin'," he mumbled, rolling his hips so that his cock ground against Dean's ass. God, that felt good. 

 

God, this dream was so realistic. Dean reached back and grabbed Sam's hip, pulling them closer together as his other hand flew up to tangle in Sam's hair. "Mmm, god, Sammy, don't stop," he moaned, his own cock hard and aching.

 

No way in hell was Sam going to stop; this felt incredible. He pressed closer, ducking his head to kiss at the back of Dean's neck as he fucked up against him. The hand that was flat against Dean's stomach moved down to his hard cock, rubbing him through his boxers just to hear him moan. "Dean," Sam panted against the skin beneath his lips. "Dean." He was so close, but his brother had to come first.

 

Dean whined wordlessly, his hips stuttering both directions, unable to decide which he wanted more: Sam’s hand on his cock, or Sam’s cock against his ass. He could feel the heat coiling low in his gut, and he whimpered out Sam’s name as he came from the stimulation, grinding his ass down on Sam’s cock.

 

The sound of his name spilling from Dean's lips as he found his release was _it_ for Sam. He thrust up against Dean's ass once, twice more and then came, hard, with a low groan. Flushed and panting, he stayed right where he was, clinging to Dean as he trembled through the aftershocks and waited to wake up. But the moment where he opened his eyes to find himself alone in bed with come-slick boxers and an empty ache in his chest never came. 

 

Dean gave a satisfied murmur as he felt Sam come, and he slipped deeper into the post-sex sleep, snuggling closer to Sam and not bothering about his boxers just yet. He was too content, although he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it wouldn't last.

 

When Sam next opened his eyes, Dean was still in his arms, but he knew he wasn't dreaming anymore. Nothing about waking up stuck to his shorts was either sexy or blissful—but it was strange. Ever since he was a teenager with uncontrollable hormones, he'd trained his body to rouse after a wet dream so that he could clean up, hopefully without Dean or their dad noticing. Apparently, he'd slept right through for the first time in years. Great.  
  
As carefully as he could, Sam started to ease away from his sleeping brother, silently praying that he would have the decency to stay asleep. 

 

Dean grumbled unintelligibly when Sam started to pull away, rousing him. "Sam, wha—" His voice cut off when he realized that his boxers were sticky, and the back of his ass felt.. wet. Oh. Oh. Oh  _fuck_. Great. After Sam's reaction from last night when Dean had pinned him, this was  _not_  going to go over well. Dean vaguely had some sort of memory of what had to have been a dream where Sam was rubbing against him, and rubbing over his cock, but that had to have been a dream. No way would Sam have ever done that in real life.

 

Dean carefully eased away from Sam, covering the move with a stretch and a murmur as he pretended to go back to sleep, not wanting to freak Sam out.

 

Sam thanked his lucky stars when Dean went back to sleep, and quickly slipped out of bed. He thought he'd gotten away with it, but as he turned to escape, something caught his eye. The sheets had ridden low on Dean's body, making the beginnings of a wet patch on the back of his boxers all too visible.  
  
Sam's stomach dropped, and he hissed an involuntary "Shit!" from between his teeth. Holy fuck, he'd humped Dean in his sleep. He'd got _come on his brother_. He was so screwed. No way was Dean not going to notice, and no way was he going to let Sam anywhere near him ever again. Swallowing the panic welling up within him, Sam hurried from the room so that he could freak out in private.

 

Dean winced as the door slammed shut behind Sam. He let out a breath and quietly slipped from the bed, quickly changing into a clean pair of boxers and pants and a shirt before heading downstairs to fix breakfast. They were taking Dakota out that day, and if that went well, then they'd be bringing him home that evening. Dean found himself hoping that it would go well; he was surprised that even though—or perhaps especially because—Dakota was a shifter, he already cared for the boy. That was going to make the end of this job a lot harder.

 

It took Sam an hour to calm down, during which he showered, shaved, considered climbing out of the window and running away before Dean had the chance to murder him, fought off a panic attack, and spent a long time sitting on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands. He didn't feel any better by the time he finally made it downstairs, and the sight of Dean eating breakfast at the kitchen table as though everything was fine made him jump. He hadn't expected Dean to stick around.  
  
"Uh, hey," Sam mumbled, not looking his brother in the eye as he crossed the room to pour himself a cup of coffee. Caffeine was a definite necessity if he was expected to get through whatever the day would bring.

Dean glanced up as Sam entered the room. The entire time Sam had been upstairs, Dean's mind had been working, trying to make sense of what had happened. Eventually, he just figured they'd both had dreams and had basically rubbed off on each other. No biggie. Even if it did leave Dean aching and hollow inside.

"I suppose it's too much to hope for any more hot water?" he asked, grinning, but when that didn't get a response, Dean sighed and figured he might as well head Sam off at the pass on this one. "Look, Sam, it's no big deal. Not the first time you've rubbed off on me, dude." He rubbed a hand over his face, ignoring the desire to add, "Not that I minded." _That_ would just be pushing things too far, with the way Sam was now.

Sam looked up at that, to stare at Dean with wide eyes. "The first time since I was sixteen," he said, and then bit his tongue so hard he saw stars. Dear God, he hoped it was the first time since he was sixteen. Had he done it before? Recently? His hand shook and coffee splashed over the rim of his mug to scald his fingers, but he barely felt it. He was so fucking screwed. 

 

"Hey, hey," Dean said, alarmed as Sam spilled some coffee. He got up and grabbed a towel, taking the mug from Sam and wiping off the table before wiping off Sam's hands and making sure they weren't burned. "Sam, yeah, it's the first time since you were sixteen, but—shit, man, it's a normal bodily function. It's definitely not the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me, having my little brother get off by rubbing against my hot ass," Dean said, grinning slightly, hoping to tease an answering grin from Sam.

 

Sam tried to smile, honestly he did, but his mouth was being stubborn. Dean didn't have a clue what he was saying. Dean trusted Sam enough to joke about that, when Sam had betrayed that trust by doing it in the first place. He hadn't rubbed off on Dean because he was the closest warm body while he was dreaming about some hot chick; he'd done it because he was dreaming about Dean. A Dean who had moaned and rocked back against him and let Sam touch him until he came, too. If the real Dean knew that... The thought alone was enough to make Sam feel sick.  
  
"Yeah, I bet," he mumbled, still not smiling, and stood up from the table. If he didn't get away from Dean and his brotherly understanding, he was going to do something stupid—like punch Dean, or cry. "I'll clean up while you take a shower. I left you plenty of hot water."

 

Dean watched Sam retreating from him, and it made him want to yell at Sam, ask him why the hell it was such a big deal that they'd gotten off in the same bed last night, but the look on Sam's face—that barely-keeping-it-together face—was enough to have the words freezing in his throat. Instead, he nodded and stood up. "Don't forget, we're taking Dakota out today, and might be bringing him home tonight," he said, striving to remind himself and Sam of the real reason they were here: Something was killing people, and it was their job to find out what.

 

Sam hadn't forgotten that they were seeing Dakota, but Dean's words gave him the motivation to drag himself out of his pit of despair and do something. While Dean was in the shower, Sam cleaned up downstairs and then went into the second bedroom to put clean sheets on the bed, just in case they could bring Dakota home tonight. The thought made Sam hopeful. He was pretty sure that Dakota was as just another victim of his parent, and Sam wanted to help him. Of course, Dean was likely to protest, but they would cross that bridge when they reached it.

 

The two Winchesters were walking on eggshells around each other the rest of the morning. Finally the time came for them to head back to the center to pick up Dakota, and when they pulled up, Dakota was already standing next to Mrs. Stewart. Dean had his silver ring on again, and he took great pleasure in making the elder shifter wince. "Whoops," he said cheekily. "Forgot about my grip."

 

Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs and gave Mrs. Stewart an exasperated smile. "Sorry; I can't take him anywhere," he laughed. "I thought you didn't work with Dakota?"  
  
"No one else was available to see him off," Mrs. Stewart explained with a cold look for Dean, and Sam didn't miss the way the 'casual' hand she had on Dakota's shoulder tightened. He grit his teeth.  
  
"What time does he need to be back?" he asked, because putting a bullet between her eyes wouldn't help matters. Mrs. Stewart laid down a few ground rules and set Dakota's curfew at five, which seemed reasonable enough. Plenty of time to go to the park and catch a movie, and if the centre decided Dakota could stay with them, then they could get something to eat on the way home. Sam shook Mrs. Stewart's hand, just to give Dean the opportunity to do so a second time, and grinned at Dakota. "Ready to go?"

 

Dean grinned at Mrs. Stewart when he again shook her hand, this time making sure to add in a bit of a crushing grip. "Bye," he said.

 

Dakota nodded to Sam and then walked with the Winchesters to the Impala, climbing into the backseat. "Where are we going?" he asked quietly.

 

Dean glanced back and grinned as Dakota buckled up. "How's a movie and then the park? I don't imagine the center lets you kids out too much, huh?"

 

Dakota shook his head. "Not often," he admitted softly. "Which movie?"

 

"Ever hear of  _The Lord of the Rings_? The prequel,  _The Hobbit_ , is out. Well, the first part, at least. It looks pretty interesting." Dakota nodded and smiled slightly, and Dean could feel his heart melting in his chest. Damn, this was going to get him in a lot of trouble, but right now?

 

He couldn't care less.

 

They chatted a little on the way to the movie theatre, Sam and Dean doing most of the talking and being careful to steer clear of sensitive topics—like Dakota's parentage or how he came to be in care. When they got there, Sam took Dakota over to buy drinks and popcorn while Dean bought their tickets, and it was revealed that the kid had a love of M&Ms. Sam bought two packets, because no way was he dealing with Dean and Dakota fighting over one while he tried to watch the movie. He had a feeling that while the two would get on like a house on fire, they'd also drive each other up the wall in a way that would be adorable anywhere but in the theatre.   
  
Dean met them by the concessions stand and gave them a ticket each; in return, Sam handed him a bag of M&Ms and a coke. "Can we go in yet?" he asked, almost giddy. "I want to get a good seat." There had been an unfortunate experience on Sam's twelfth birthday, when they'd had to sit right at the front and Sam had complained of a sore neck for a week afterwards. Ever since, arriving early to a movie was an obsession.

 

Dean grinned, laying a hand on Dakota's shoulder and leading them through the theater and down the hall to the room that the movie was playing in. "All right, gigantor, c'mon," he said, leading the way to the back of the theater and selecting some seats in the middle of one of the rows further back. He sat on the far right, Dakota beside him, and Sam on Dakota's other side. 

 

Through the whole movie, Dean couldn't help sneaking glances at both Dakota and Sam. They were both enthralled with the movie, and Dean couldn't blame them. It was really good. When it was done, all three of them left the theater, arguing animatedly over some random points of the movie. Once they were in the car and heading for the park, Dean looked up in the rearview mirror, grinning at the smile that was still firmly lodged on Dakota's face. "Having fun?" he asked. 

 

Dakota nodded, and Dean grinned. "Good," he said, surprised at how pleased he was at Dakota's admission, and that Dakota was letting himself have fun. "So," he said, glancing over at Sam. "Sam and I were thinking... We both really like you, Dakota. And, obviously, we're looking to adopt, and, well, we were wondering—" Dean couldn't quite get the words out past his throat, and he looked to Sam for help.

 

Sam patted Dean's leg and twisted in his seat to smile at Dakota. He wanted to think that Dean couldn't say it because he was nervous, and not because he didn't think he could convincingly persuade a monster to live with them, but he knew better. "We're not asking if we can adopt you," he reassured Dakota, as though the kid hadn't done this several times before and might be uncertain. "Not yet. But we do want to get to know you better, and let you get to know us. So, if this goes well today, and if you think you might like to, you could come to stay with us for a little while, as a sort of temporary foster placement so that we can all decide what's best."

 

Dean tossed a grateful grin Sam's way, glad that Sam could get it out. No matter how fond Dean was rapidly becoming of the kid, the fact remained that Dakota was still a shifter. Still a monster. 

 

Dakota thought for a second, but then he nodded, a small smile quirking one corner of his mouth. "I'd like that," he said, his voice quiet as always. Dean was starting to see that Dakota was hesitant to like them, because...

 

Well, because if Sam and Dean adopted him, they'd be dead within the year. That was fairly good motivation to not get emotionally invested in someone.

 

The park was mainly to give Dakota the opportunity to stretch his legs a little, and Dean and Sam sat on a bench while they watched him play with some other kids. He looked so innocent, so _normal_ , and Sam couldn't help feeling sorry for him. It wasn't fair for such a young boy to have such a heavy weight on his shoulders—both of the Winchesters knew that all too well.   
  
"So," Sam began carefully, nudging Dean with his shoulder. "What do you think? He's a sweet kid, right?"

 

Dean smiled, watching Dakota play. "Yeah, he is." He sighed and shook his head, grinning ruefully. "Fuck, Sam, I genuinely like him. The hell is this world coming to?" Dean chuckled, glancing over at Sam. "You like him, too," he said, raising an eyebrow.

 

Sam shrugged. He had nothing to hide. "Yeah, I like him, but I don't see what the big deal is," he said. "You really think he's a willing participant in this? He's just a kid, Dean. You can't seriously be considering killing a kid."

 

Dean shrugged. "I just... Shit, Sam, we kill monsters. Any monsters. The fact that we haven't met any kid monsters until now is pure luck. It's just weird, wrapping my head around the fact that... monster he may be, but... We don't have any proof that  _he's_ the one killing these people." Dean sighed, turning to watch Dakota again, and that little warmth in his chest, watching the smile on Dakota's face? Yeah. That meant he was pretty much whipped. "Guess I'm kinda... Maybe... Wondering what's going to happen, y'know, after."

 

Sam hummed thoughtfully. Honestly, he didn't have a clue what they were going to do with Dakota if they didn't kill him—but the not killing him seemed important. Sam refused to believe that the kid was evil; until he tried to eat them or their neighbours, he didn't deserve to die. "I don't know," he answered after a moment. "Maybe once we get rid of his mom, we can rehabilitate him? It wouldn't be fair to put him back in the system, but there has to be someone out there who can deal with what he is and love him regardless."   
  
Something was telling Sam that the only people up to such a task was them, but he didn't mention it. Letting Dakota live would be enough of a challenge for Dean—the concept of raising him would probably give his brother an aneurysm.

 

Dean was quiet for several moments before he finally sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Thing is... I kinda don't want to even take him back to the center now," he muttered. He glanced at his watch and swore when he saw that they had roughly fifteen minutes to make a twenty-five minute drive back to the center. "C'mon, Dakota," he called, standing up. Dakota waved goodbye to the other kids and then jogged over to Dean, grinning. They all piled into the car, and Dean waited until they were on their way back to the center before he asked, "So, did you have fun?"

 

Dakota nodded. "I did. And... I was thinking. I was thinking that... I'dkindofmaybelikeitifyoutwowantedtoadoptme." The last part of this was expelled on a rush of breath, like Dakota wanted it out as fast as possible, because he was afraid of keeping it inside of him.

 

Dean looked over at Sam in surprise before smiling, that happy little warmth in his chest spreading. "We'd like that, too," he said softly.

 

Out of sheer instinct, Sam slipped his hand into Dean's where it was resting on the seat between them and gave his fingers a squeeze. He knew what that look meant. Dean was pleased that Dakota had chosen them, and it had nothing to do with them getting a good shot at mommy as a result. He was falling for the little boy in the back seat, but that was okay, because Sam was falling too. Still, there was always the possibility that Dakota was just setting them up, and as much as Sam didn't want to believe it, they both had to consider it.  
  
"We'll talk to the people at the centre about you coming to stay with us," he promised, grinning at Dakota over his shoulder. It was only when they pulled up outside the formidable-looking building that Sam realised he hadn't let go of Dean's hand.

 

Honestly, Dean didn't want Sam to let go. But he had to, if they were ever going to get out of the car. Mary was waiting for them on the front step instead of Mrs. Stewart—"Her hand was hurting, the poor dear. Arthritis, you know."—and it only took a few minutes to have Dakota getting his stuff and slinging it into the backseat of the Impala before climbing in after it. The official adoption process was underway—expected to be completed within a month, which was super fast, but apparently the center was very well-skilled at paperwork—and Dakota would be staying with the brothers/"lovers."

 

"So. Where should we go for a celebratory dinner?" Dean asked, grinning as he turned in his seat to rest an arm over the back of the front seat.

 

Sam resisted the urge to scoot along the seat until he was pressed up against Dean and then pull his arm around him. "How about Red Lobster?" he suggested with a smile. Dean loved that place more than he would ever admit, but they only went when they had something special to celebrate—normally when one of them came back from Hell. This still seemed like a good enough occasion, though: they had Dakota with them, the adult shifter would be dealt with sooner rather than later, and Sam still had to act like he was Dean's lover. Even if it was just temporary, Sam was getting to pretend that he had a family with the man he loved—what better excuse was there?

 

Dean grinned when Dakota nodded enthusiastically. "Red Lobster it is," he announced happily, putting the Impala in gear.

 

Afterwards, Dean helped Dakota move his stuff into the other bed. Dakota was worrying his lower lip, and Dean sat down on the bed, reaching out to gently touch Dakota's arm. "Hey, buddy, you okay?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

 

Dakota took a deep breath. "I have.. nightmares," he admitted, his voice even quieter than was normal for him. 

 

Dean's gut wrenched. He had a good idea just what those nightmares were about. "Well, Sam and I are right down the hall. You get scared, you can come sleep with us, okay? We're both fairly light sleepers, so we'll hear if anything happens." Dakota nodded, and Dean went with his gut instinct, which was to reach forward and pull Dakota close, wrapping the young shifter in a hug. Except, right now, Dakota didn't feel like a shifter. He just felt like a scared young child.

 

Sam watched all of this from the doorway of Dakota's room, and he knew, just as he knew that they were both falling for the kid, that Dakota wasn't evil. He wanted to go over to them, offer some comfort of his own, but Dean seemed to have it covered and he probably wouldn't appreciate being wrapped in Sam's arms while he hugged their soon-to-be-adoptive child. Dakota was watching Sam over Dean's shoulder, though, so Sam gave him a gentle smile and was pleased when Dakota returned it.  
  
When Dean came into their bedroom a few minutes later, Sam was sat on the bed waiting for him. "Is he okay?" he asked softly. "Are you?"

 

Dakota had been changing into his pajamas when Dean left, and Dean rubbed his hands over his face. "Yeah. He's okay, for now. Me, I'm just... Well, same way I've been feeling this entire case. Feeling things for people I shouldn't." He was vaguely aware of what he'd just said, but he was too damn tired and emotionally drained to care. He shucked out of his pants and shirt and flopped face-first down onto the bed before squirming his way under the covers.

 

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment, trying to wrap his head around what had just been said. There was no way he meant what Sam wanted him to mean, but then what... When the penny dropped, Sam was disgusted, which was quite an accomplishment on Dean's part. He swatted at his brother's potentially-comatose form with a surprised groan.   
  
"Dude! Alicia's, like, married or something," he laughed. "To a _woman_. Pretty sure you've got the wrong junk." His laughter died down as he got into bed, turning serious once more. He kind of understood how Dean felt. "Listen, it's gonna be okay. No matter what happens with Dakota, I know you'll make the right call." Once more Sam reached out to touch Dean, this time to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, before releasing him to turn out the light. "Goodnight, Dean."

Dean's arms tightened around the pillow as his heart clenched at Sam's easy dismissal. "Wasn't talkin' 'bout 'licia or them," he muttered, shifting so his back was to Sam as he forced his breathing to remain steady so that he wouldn't give everything away. He didn't know why he'd dropped that hint, but obviously Sam wasn't at all receptive to it.

When Dean heard something slowly push the bedroom door open, he was awake instantly, his hand automatically going for the silver knife under his pillow. He didn't move, however, waiting and listening.

"Dean?" Dakota whispered, cautiously approaching the bed.

Dean let out a breath and opened his eyes, turning to look at Dakota. "Hey," he said, sitting up. "Nightmare?" When Dakota nodded, Dean smiled reassuringly and swung his legs off of the bed, standing up and holding the covers up. "C'mon. You can sleep between me and Sam. We'll protect you."

Sam cracked an eye open, vaguely aware that they weren't about to get eaten by whoever had disturbed them, and smiled at Dakota. He looked troubled, his face illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through a gap in the curtains, and Sam shifted over to give him some room. "Nightmares suck," he mumbled knowingly. "But Dean's awesome at making them go away. Promise." With that, he passed back out.

Dean climbed back into the bed behind Dakota, and held open his arms. Dakota willingly snuggled closer, wrapping his arms around Dean and pressing his face to Dean's chest. Dean's heart ached, and he sort of really fucking hated this case. It was fucking with his emotions. "I got you," Dean murmured, lightly stroking Dakota's hair. "No nightmares or anything from them are gonna get you while I'm here. I know how to kick all their asses."

It took a little while before Dakota fell asleep again, but when he did, Dean suddenly realized he was kinda glad that it was the beginning of summer: no school. One less thing to worry about.

When Sam woke up, it was to find himself wrapped around not only Dean, but Dakota too. He was almost unbearably hot, but it felt too good to move. Dakota was snoring softly on his shoulder and Dean had a hand on his hip and Sam would really hate to disturb them, so he stayed exactly where he was. The sound of their gentle breathing eventually lulled him back to sleep, and he went willingly, a smile on his lips.

 

Dean was woken up by Dakota poking him in the side and whispering, "Dean. Dean. Deeeean. Dean, I gotta go pee." Dean cracked one eye open and then twisted his head around to look at the clock. Seven AM.

"All right, all right, I'm up," he yawned, regrettfully removing his hand from Sam's hip and rolling over until he just dropped off of the bed, to Dakota's giggles as he climbed out and over Dean. Dean just laid there on the floor, debating his options. He could stay on the floor and go to sleep, or get back into bed with Sam, or go down and make breakfast. With a groan, he decided the last one was probably his best option, and hauled himself to his feet, stumbling blindly down to the kitchen to start coffee.

Sam stumbled into the kitchen a little while later and was pleasantly surprised to find a mug of coffee waiting for him. He ruffled Dakota's hair on the way past, like Dean used to do to him, and managed to mumble a, "Morning," as he sat down at the table. "This better not be yours," he added as he dragged the mug toward him, moaning when he took a sip. It was perfect. Maybe this was his reward for not molesting his brother in his sleep last night.

 

Dakota just grinned and shook his head, gesturing to the cup of orange juice in front of him. Dean was standing in front of the stove, making bacon and eggs. "And this is mine," Dean announced, pointing with the spatula to the mug beside him. "Now that we've sorted which cup is whose, we need to sort out what we're gonna do today."

 

Sam grunted into his coffee. "I have no idea," he yawned, blinking the sleep from his eyes.  "Let's let the kid pick." Now that the caffeine had started to circulate, his brain was beginning to work, and he realised that he wanted to make an effort to ensure that their new maybe-son felt included. He gave Dakota a huge smile and gestured wide with his hand. "What are we doing today? Whatever you want."

Dakota thought for a minute. "Well... are there any other kids around?" he asked hesitantly.

Dean grinned. "Actually, our neighbors, Alicia and Leia, have two boys about your age," he said. "You wanna go meet them?"

Dakota nodded as Dean laid a plate of food in front of him. "I do."

Sam smiled, a little relieved. Dakota may be a shifter who had spent most of his life in care, but he was still a lot more normal than Sam and Dean had ever been, and Sam didn't know how to deal with normal kids. A play date, however, he could do. "Great," he enthused, taking his own food from Dean and digging in. "Eat your breakfast and I'll give them a call, okay?"  
  
They didn't call Alicia until noon, in case they enjoyed a lie in, and within ten minutes there were three children playing in the back yard. Sam kept an eye on them through the kitchen window until Dean laughed at him for hovering like a mother hen, and then he went upstairs to make the beds. He had no idea when he'd become such a housewife, but there was something soothing in going through daily chores, tucking sheets back into place and fluffing pillows and now, apparently, picking up action figures off the floor. When he came downstairs a little while later, it was to give Dean an incredulous look. Apparently it was his big brother's turn to hover like a mother hen. Sam clucked at him, because he was a little bitch.  
  
"You can't keep that knife under your pillow if Dakota's going to be sleeping with us," he said mildly as he folded a hand towel and tucked it into the cutlery drawer. "He's going to hurt himself, and then he's going to want to know why one of his dads keeps a silver knife under his pillow."

 

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Really? Dude, the kid's a shifter. He knows what a silver knife is for, I'm willing to bet. Plus, he's pretty smart. He'll put two and two together." That didn't really make things any better, because if they were going to pull off this job, they needed Dakota to trust them. "Look, I'll put it somewhere else close by, but I'm not going completely defenseless." He watched Sam continue picking up after the kids, but it made his chest hurt too much, so he turned back to the window, smiling slightly as he watched Dakota, Mark, and Jason play in the backyard. "I almost don't want this job to be over," he muttered under his breath.

 

"I don't expect you to go completely defenseless, but you're right, he is smart," Sam responded, now poking around in the fridge for something to make for lunch. The kids would want feeding soon. "If he works out he's being adopted by a couple of hunters, he'll freak, and he might tip off mommy dearest." It was only as he finished saying this that Dean's last words registered. Sam turned away from the fridge to stare at him, vaguely bemused. "What did you just say?"

 

Dean froze, not turning around. _Shit._ He hadn’t meant for Sam to hear that. But, knowing Sam, he wouldn’t give up on it, now that he’d heard. “I just said that I almost don’t want this job to end. It’s almost perfect, except for the fact that this is a hunt.” _And the fact that I’m in love with you, but you’d be disgusted and horrified if you ever found out_.

 

Sam snorted and put his hand on his hip, slipping even further into the stereotype of a '50s housewife. "Since when is _this_ perfect to you?" he demanded, gesturing around the kitchen with his other hand. "You've always said that a normal person's idea of domestic bliss is your version of—" He didn't say 'Hell', because he wasn't stupid. "You've always hated it," he clarified instead, and suddenly wondered if this was about Lisa. "When did you start jonesing for a white picket fence?"

 

"Since I almost got it!" Dean snapped, turning around to glare at Sam. "Look, I shouldn't have said anything, all right? I know that this isn't normal—hell, when has  _anything_  ever been normal for us?—but yeah. It kind of makes me wish that we had a family. Cas is missing, and we don't know  _anyone_  else well enough to consider them family, not since Bobby died! And now we've got a  _home_ , Sam, and—" He cut himself off before he could dig a hole deeper for Sam to bury him in. He definitely didn't need to be jeopardizing this job at this stage. "Look," he sighed, massaging his temples. "Just drop it, all right? At least for now. We've got a job to do, and a kid to take care of."

 

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment, wondering how the hell he hadn't noticed this. Not for the first time, he cursed his soulless self for dragging his brother away from Lisa and Ben and their apple pie life. Sam had long ago accepted that that didn't exist for the Winchesters, but Dean had lived it, and Dean still wanted it, and Sam honestly didn't know when the tables had turned on them so completely. He felt like shit.  
  
"Okay," he said at last, even though it wasn't okay at all. "I'm sorry." Then he turned and left the room.

 

Dean stared after Sam, but he didn't get a chance to go after his brother because just then the sound of a herd of elephants stampeding heralded the return of the three boys. "We're starving!" Mark announced, and Dean forced a grin to his face as he turned around to face the kids.

 

"Well, can't have that, now can we?" Dean asked, hoping his voice didn't sound forced. "C'mon, let's go eat."

 

Sam stayed in the bedroom for two hours, and Dean didn't come to find him. It was probably a good thing; Sam needed to think. A lot of things made sense now. Here they were, 'living the dream', in a gorgeous house in the suburbs. All very normal, all very apple pie—aside from the part where they were adopting a young shifter and had to pretend to be in love with each other. Well, Dean had to pretend. And last night Dean had said that he was feeling things he shouldn't. Like, an attachment to the place. Like, a longing for the family he'd once had, given up and then lost forever.  
  
And whose fault was that? Sam's. Soulless or not, this was all Sam's doing. Instead of cuddling with Lisa and going to Ben's baseball games like he wanted to be doing, Dean was back on the road with his loser kid brother, still carrying on the family business when he'd been ready to lay it to rest years ago. Even better? That loser kid brother was in love with him and even without a soul was selfish enough to manipulate him into staying with him. The guilt Sam felt made his chest ache and his eyes water, but he didn't have a clue how to fix it.  
  
In the end, he realised that hiding wasn't going to help; it just made him a coward. The boys were back outside again when he got downstairs, and found Dean in the living room watching TV—although his eyes were glazed, as though he wasn't seeing the screen at all. Sam hesitated in the doorway, almost afraid to speak as though now that he finally understood, Dean would feel like it was okay to tell him to take a hike. Maybe it was. But if that was the case, Sam was going to face it head on, and take it like a man who knew he deserved it.  
  
"Hey," he said at last, and winced when his soft tone made Dean jump. "I'm sorry." It was pretty much exactly what he'd said before, but this time he meant it in an entirely different way, and all he'd done to hurt Dean over the years finally weighted the words.

 

Dean stared up at Sam uncomprehendingly. "You're... sorry," he repeated slowly, studying Sam carefully. He looked... guilty. As hell. "What for?" he asked finally. He'd made the boys lunch, and then after they'd gone back outside, he'd turned on the tv, even though he wasn't entirely sure what channel it was on. He'd been too busy worrying that he'd just screwed up everything with Sam, made Sam feel unappreciated, and, apparently, like it was all somehow his fault.

 

Sam sighed and entered the room, perching on the arm of a chair so that he could face Dean without sitting next to him. "For screwing up your life," he said after a long pause. "Dean, you've been sacrificing things for me since you were four, and all I've ever done is throw it back in your face. Then I die, and you can finally live the life you want, but I can't even do you a favour and stay away from you when I come back. You should have stayed with Lisa, man, but you were too good of a big brother to tell me no, and now you've lost them and it's my fault." Sam took a deep breath, clearly distressed. "And I'm sorry. It doesn't make it even slightly better, but God, I'm _so_ sorry."

 

Dean couldn't watch Sam beat himself up any longer. "No," he said firmly, standing up and reaching out to put his hands on Sam's shoulders, squeezing until Sam met his eyes. "No," he repeated. "You're not screwing up my life. Remember the only reason I even _went_ to Ben and Lisa? Because _you_ told me to. And I came back to you because you're my brother, and I love you. It's sick and twisted and wrong, even for us, but... Dammit. I'm tired of hiding it, all right? I love you." He looked at Sam anxiously, all those nightmares he used to have about Sam finding out and running away for good swimming back to the front of his mind as he waited for Sam's reply. He vaguely registered the sound of the boys heading back for the house, but dismissed it for the moment. This was more important.

 

Time seemed to slow right down, and Sam was helpless to do anything but stare at his brother. Dean hadn't said 'I love you' to him for years, possibly not since before Stanford, so that was a pretty earth-shattering statement in and of itself—but Dean didn't stop there. The words spilling from his lips were exactly the same words that Sam had said to himself over and over every day since he was at least sixteen, but surely not for the same reasons. Surely Dean didn't mean...  
  
"You can't love me," Sam said abruptly, stupidly, before his brain had a chance to catch up with his tongue. " _I_ love _you_."

 

Before Dean had much of a chance to process what Sam had said, all three of the boys came running into the house, laughing and yelling. Dean exploded off of Sam, turning his attention to hopefully keeping their house in one piece. As he herded the boys into the kitchen to get drinks, he shot Sam a glance that said they weren't done with that conversation.

 

Sam was left sitting on the arm of a chair, and trembling. What the hell had just happened? Had he just confessed his love to Dean? Had Dean just confessed his love to him? He didn't get much time to dwell on it; a shattering sound from the kitchen told Sam that Dean was struggling to control three manic kids, so he did what he did best: he compartmentalised, and went to help.  
  
For all that Dean's expression as he'd left the room had said that they would talk later—which was enough to set warning bells off in Sam's head; Dean _never_ wanted to talk later—they didn't revisit the topic for the rest of the day. They played with the kids, cooked dinner, sent two thirds of the kids home for their own dinner, and then spent the evening watching movies with Dakota. Sam was acutely aware that he and Dean hadn't touched all day, even in passing, and he was freaking out by the time it was late enough to turn in.  
  
Sam put Dakota to bed while Dean took a shower. He gave the young boy a hug and told him that he could sleep with them if he had another nightmare, and wished him sweet dreams. Dakota smiled gratefully and nodded, thanked him, said goodnight. Sam left him to it.  
  
Dean was waiting when he returned to their bedroom; Sam took one look at his face and quietly, subtly, shut the door behind him. "Do we need to talk?" he asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.

 

Dean took a deep breath. He'd been trying to figure out just what the _hell_ he'd been thinking earlier, and he had come to the conclusion that he quite simply had not been thinking at all. He looked up at Sam as he said quietly but with conviction, "Yes."

 

"Okay..." Sam tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and sat down on the bed beside Dean, trying not to panic. Whatever happened next was going to change his life forever, he could feel it. "So talk."

 

"Did you mean it?" Dean blurted, looking up at Sam worriedly. He knew he meant it when he said he loved Sam, but when Sam had said it... He wasn't so sure. He worried his lower lip before adding, "I meant it. What I said, I mean."

 

Sam blinked at Dean, his mouth suddenly dry as his heart raced. This was it. This was either the best moment of his life or the end of it. "Yeah," he murmured, wide-eyed and warily hopeful. "I meant it, Dean."

 

Dean stared at Sam for probably far too long, not daring to believe what he'd just heard. "You did?" he repeated stupidly, completely floored. He could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Sam loved him. Sam _loved_ him. Sam loved _him._ When the hell did he become the luckiest bastard on earth?

 

Dean didn't seem to be saying much, and Sam felt uncertainty twist in his gut. Perhaps he'd just made a mistake, confessing to Dean. "Yeah..." he repeated, chewing his lip. "Are you sure _you_ meant it?"

 

"Am I sure—" Dean started, but then he decided, _Fuck it._ he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam's for barely a heartbeat before pulling away, his heart racing. "I'm sure," he said softly.

 

Sam let out a shaky breath while he processed what had just happened, and then smiled so hard his dimples hurt. Dean loved him, and Dean had kissed him, and Sam thought he was going to pass out. Thankfully, he didn't. "You meant it," he laughed, almost dizzy with relief, and leaned in for another kiss instead.

 

Dean grinned into the next kiss. "Of course I meant it, dumbass," he murmured, bringing one hand up to tangle in Sam's hair. "I don't say something like that and not mean it."

 

Sam shifted closer, sliding a hand around the back of Dean's neck just so he could touch his skin. "It's a pretty big something," he murmured against Dean's lips, and then pulled back to look him in the eye. "What happens now?"

 

Dean looked at Sam, thinking. He really,  _really_  wanted to keep this going—but they couldn't. Not with Dakota in the next room, liable to wake up any time with nightmares. "Now... Now we go to sleep, and we do  _not_  have any morning-after awkwardness. When I wake up, if you are not wrapped around me, then I will personally kick you out of the bed and roll you out the window." Dean grinned at Sam teasingly.

 

Sam grinned right back, and kissed Dean again. "I think I can handle that." Honestly, Sam didn't think he was ready for much more. He may have wanted Dean for the better part of his life, but he'd also thought that Dean would never want him back for the same length of time; he needed a little while to adjust.   
  
Whatever the reasons for making it, waiting was the right call. When Sam woke up the next morning, he was once again wrapped around both Dean and Dakota. Fearing for his life for an entirely different reason than he had been yesterday, Sam pulled them both closer and pressed a kiss to Dean's cheek when he stirred. From the smile he got in return right before Dean went back to sleep, he wasn't getting thrown out of a window later.  
  
Two weeks passed, and they still hadn't exchanged so much as a hand job. The days were always filled with the chaos that was looking after a child, and Dakota was still climbing into bed with them in the middle of every night. So far, Sam and Dean had managed to share a few kisses each day, and on movie nights they sometimes cuddled but only if Sam didn't tease Dean for it afterwards. In short, even Sam was frustrated, and he was going to get some today if it was the last thing he did.  
  
They sent Dakota over to Alicia and Leia's place to play with the kids, and settled in for an enjoyable afternoon. They hadn't been alone five minutes when Sam was pinching Dean's ass and telling him to come upstairs, feeling giddy with anticipation even though Dean dawdled in the kitchen for a moment. He was probably just getting whipped cream or something. Sam was so distracted by the possibility of having sex with his brother that he almost stepped in the pile of fresh, flesh-coloured goop that was laying in the hallway, but he spotted it just in time and knew immediately what had happened.   
  
The radio had been on in the kitchen, but still, Sam had to wonder how Dakota had come home _and_ gone through the painful process of shedding his skin without them noticing. He also had to wonder why Dakota would do so in broad daylight, where his almost-adoptive parents could see him and would definitely find the evidence—unless it wasn't a voluntary process. Filled with the kind of fear that was known only to a father whose child was missing and likely in pain, Sam started to panic.  
  
" _Dean_!"

Dean—cursing his lack of foresight to buy whipped cream—froze when he heard Sam's shout. He instinctively grabbed one of the few silver knives they had and raced down the hallway, freezing when he saw the shreds of skin. "Fuck!" he swore, racing up the stairs, Sam's footsteps pounding on the steps behind him no match for the pounding of his heart. Either Dakota was starting to enter what was essentially shifter puberty—and thank god that Sam and Dean were the ones that had gotten him when he did—or the parent shifter was here.

The trail of shed skin led to Dakota's room, and Dean knocked on the door, which was closed when it had been open when Dakota left for Alicia's. "Dakota! Dakota, open up!" he called, hoping he just sounded worried and not like he was going to rip something to shreds—which he would if said something was threatening his son.

Dean didn't stop to think about the implications of what he'd just thought when Dakota didn't open the door, but Dean still heard a muffled sob from the other side. "Dakota, if you're near the door, stand back!" he instructed before he kicked the door in, knife at the ready. He stopped when he saw the sight in the middle of the bedroom.

Instead of a young Amy, there was now a young Sam.

While Dakota and Dean stared at each other, Sam took a moment to work out what was going on. One: there was no one in the house, trying to hurt his family; two: Dakota had apparently hit puberty, and had taken the form of a ten-year-old Sam; three: Dakota wasn't staring at Dean, but at the knife in his hand. Fuck.   
  
Sam knocked the knife out of Dean's limp grasp and stepped into the room, careful not to tread in any goop. "Dakota, it's okay," he said slowly, hands out to show that he wasn't a threat. Dakota was clearly very upset and very scared. "We're not going to hurt you. You're safe with us. It's okay."

Dean managed to rouse himself when Dakota let out a whimper. It was... extremely disconcerting, because he sounded exactly like Sam had when Sam was ten. "You're not... not freaking out?" Dakota hiccupped, shaking slightly.

Dean took a cautious step forward, and then another and another until he could kneel in front of Dakota and lay his hands on Dakota's arms, rubbing softly. "We're not. We've seen... a lot," he said carefully. "You're a shifter, right?"

Dakota nodded, closing his eyes as a tear leaked out. "This hasn't happened... happened in years," he whispered.

"You're probably just hitting the shifter equivalent of puberty. Look, it's scary, I'll admit, but Sam and I aren't going to kick you out or kill you. That knife?" he said, gesturing behind him, "That was in case there was something in here threatening you. You're ours, okay? We're not letting you get hurt."

"Dean's right," Sam agreed softly as he knelt down beside his brother and reached out to Dakota. "You're ours." It was kind of weird, looking at a younger version of himself, but it wasn't like they'd been time-travelling again. Sam hadn't been very well aquainted with how he looked to outsiders at that age—he still wasn't, obviously—but he thought he could detect something in the boy's eyes that was pure _Dakota_. It warmed his heart almost as much as it had to hear Dean claim Dakota as theirs. "Are you alright?" Sam asked after a beat, concerned. The few adult shifters he'd seen change had looked like they were in agony; he shuddered to think of how much pain Dakota must have endured.

"Better," Dakota admitted, his voice shaky, and Dean instinctively pulled him in for a hug.

"C'mon, let's go run you a hot bath, okay? I don't think you're gonna shift for a while, but when you do, you might want to see if you can direct it, y'know. Make it turn you into the skin you had earlier." Dakota nodded, and Dean got to his feet, an arm around Dakota's shoulders. He looked at Sam questioningly. "Can you clean this up?" he asked quietly, gesturing with his eyes to the way Dakota was clinging to him. Poor kid was scared just about shitless.

Sam nodded, and ran a comforting hand through Dakota's hair. "Of course," he said, and then added, "Take care of him," even though he really didn't need to. Dean was clinging to Dakota as much as Dakota was clinging to Dean. It would be kind of adorable, if they all hadn't just experienced such a stressful situation.  
  
Sam was mopping in the hallway when Dean came downstairs; Dakota could still be heard splooshing away in the tub. "How is he?" Sam asked, searching Dean's face. He looked about as worn out as Sam felt.

 

"Still a bit upset. Still thinks we're gonna flip out on him." Dean bit his lip as he thought about how Dakota had been shaking as Dean had helped him into the bathtub. "I certainly didn't help matters, bringing that knife into the room. But, I think he trusts that we're not gonna hurt him."

 

Sam crossed the hall, heedless of the footprints he was leaving on the wet floor, and took Dean into his arms. "It wasn't your fault," he murmured against Dean's temple. "You thought he was in danger and you wanted to protect him. He knows you love him." These last words slipped out against Sam's will, and he really hoped that Dean wouldn't deny them, because then he might have to start throwing punches. It was so obvious that Dean loved Dakota like a son, just as Sam did. After a moment's pause, during which Dean made no indignant protests, Sam continued. "Do you think we should talk to him? About his... previous families?"

 

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, burying his face against Sam's chest. "Not yet," he mumbled. "Later. When he's shifted back to normal."

 

Sam nodded and kissed the top of Dean's head. "Okay," he agreed, and they stayed like that for another few moments before they both stepped back, feeling infinitely better. "I'll go make us all some hot chocolate; could you take Dakota some clean pajamas up?" Sam gestured to the stairs, where he'd placed a pile of neatly folded laundry before he'd started to mop. "He might appreciate something comfy to wear, I don't know. Tell him that if he hurries, he can have my marshmallows."

Dean grinned at Sam. "Yeah, I can do tha—" A choked-off cry came from the bathroom, and Dean whipped around. "Fuck. Go, he's gonna need that drink." Dean sprinted up the stairs, glad he'd left the bathroom door unlocked as he shouldered it open and quickly stepped into the bathroom, pulling the plug to drain the tub. "Dakota, buddy, you're shifting again, okay? I'm right here. I'm right here, sport. It hurts, I know, but I'm here, Dakota. Focus on me, okay? Focus on what I'm saying." Dean kept talking to Dakota, not daring to touch him in case he do something to harm Dakota while the poor boy was shifting.

When it was over, Dean carefully helped Dakota out of the tub and grabbed a towel, rubbing it briskly over the boy's body. He was back to looking like a young Amy, thankfully. "Hey," Dean said softly when Dakota let out a strangled sob. "You're not a monster, okay? You can't help being born a shifter." When Dakota nodded, Dean straightened. "Stay right here; I'm gonna go get you some pj's." He practically sprinted down the stairs and snatched the clothes before running back up and gently helping Dakota into them. "Okay, that feels better, doesn't it? C'mon, Sam's got hot chocolate downstairs waitin' on us," he coaxed. Dakota went willingly, but he didn't let go of Dean, and as soon as they all had their hot chocolate and were sitting in the living room, Dakota climbed up into Dean's lap, curling into Dean's chest.

Sam sat close too, a hand resting on Dakota's leg, thumb rubbing soothingly over his ankle, so that he knew he had the love and protection of them both. They'd turned on the TV, but mostly Dakota just shivered and sipped his hot chocolate, and Sam wasn't paying any attention to what was on the screen. He looked at Dean, and when he met his gaze, raised an eyebrow. 'What do we do now?'

 

Dean was just rubbing Dakota's upper arm and shoulder, and he frowned and shrugged slightly at Sam's look. It took Dakota almost an hour to calm down, and when he finally did, Dean carefully shifted so he could lift Dakota's chin, making the boy look at him. "You okay, buddy?"

Dakota shrugged. "Don't know," he whispered. "How did... How did you know?" His eyes, when he looked up at Dean, were huge and scared.

Dean glanced over at Sam, communicating in that instinctive, wordless way of theirs before finally saying, "Because Sam and I are hunters."

Dakota's eyes flew impossibly wider, and Dean almost regretted telling him that. But Dakota didn't look scared; the fear was actually receding from his eyes. "She won't be able to kill you, then," he said, his voice relieved.

Sam smiled softly, just as relieved, and gave Dakota's ankle a squeeze. "No," he agreed, "she won't." Dakota's words only confirmed what he'd known all along—that the boy wasn't evil, and that in a way he was as much of a victim as the Porters had been. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dakota nodded. "She uses me... for bait," he whispered. "Makes sure they'll be home when she wants them."

Dean nodded sympathetically. "Mrs. Stewart, right?"

Dakota nodded once. "She's done this for the past several years, in different towns. Always used me."

"Well, not anymore," Sam said softly, with a glance at Dean. Did Dakota understand that they would have to kill his mother? Should they explain it? "She won't be able to hurt us, or you. That's over now. We're gonna keep you safe—if that's what you want," he added. Never let it be said that Sam Winchester forcibly separated a kid from his mom.

Dakota shook his head. "She's horrible," he insisted. "She... She makes me watch. And she doesn't even do it _quickly_ , like the other shifters we've met," he added, his lower lip trembling. Dean took the now-empty mug from Dakota's hands and set it on the coffee table, wrapping his arms around the young shifter.

"Do you want her dead?" he asked softly, half-afraid Dakota would say no.

Luckily, that wasn't the case. Dakota shook his head stubbornly and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck. "I want her stopped," he mumbled into Dean's throat. "Whatever it takes."

Sam sighed. He had to admit he was relieved that Dakota wasn't against them killing the older shifter, but in the same breath, it was really sad. That was his _mom_. John had been a dick, but he'd never been so bad that Sam had wanted him dead.  
  
"You're really brave," he said at last, and used his freakishly long arms, as Dean would say, to hug his family. Dakota was theirs, and this bitch was as good as dead. 

***

The next month passed by fairly quickly. Dakota had several more forced shifts, but he could at least direct them now, so he only changed appearance a little bit.

Dean and Sam were in the house making dinner and Dakota was outside playing with a soccer ball that Sam had bought—"I used to be pretty good at soccer. I can teach you, if you want."—when he heard a voice from down the sidewalk.

"Dakota."

Dakota froze, his heart hammering as he turned to watch Mrs. Stewart—"Mother dearest"—approach.

"They will be moving soon. I'll be along in two weeks, you hear? Then we need to leave. I hear the Winchester brothers have been sniffing around."

"Yes, Mother," he murmured, his eyes downcast. He knew _of_ the Winchesters, of course—what supernatural creature didn't?—but he didn't know what they looked like, and he had no desire to. They were ruthless, killing any supernatural creatures they came across. Dakota watched his mom leave, and once she was out of sight, he turned and raced back into the house, dropping the soccer ball by the front door.

Sam wasn't concerned when he heard Dakota running into the house—he was a kid; he ran everywhere—but when he turned away from the potatoes he was peeling to ask his son if he wanted a drink, he almost dropped the knife. The boy looked scared. "Dakota, what's wrong?" Sam demanded, alarmed. "Are you okay?"

 

"She said two weeks," Dakota whimpered, and Dean moved from where he'd been skimming a magazine at the table, opening his arms for Dakota. "Said two weeks, then we move on. The Winchesters are coming, she said." He choked back a sob and clung to Dean, who looked up at Sam with wide eyes. What the fuck were they going to do?

 

Shit. Of course Dakota would be scared of the Winchesters, and of course he wouldn't have worked out that his dads were those brothers. Sam knew this, but it still hadn't occurred to him that it would be a problem. Should they tell him? "It's okay," Sam said numbly, to Dean as well as their son, and walked over to rub Dakota's back. "We can handle her, and anything else that wants to hurt us or you. Don't worry."  
  
The words were all very well and good, except that Sam couldn't follow his own advice. He looked at Dean, communicating silently. He didn't have an answer for him; he didn't know what they were going to do.

Dean worried his lower lip. "Dakota, have you ever seen the Winchesters? In pictures or anything like that?"

Dakota shook his head. "No, but Mrs. Stewart's told me about them." He bit his lip. "She says they're ruthless, they wouldn't hesitate to kill us. Do you know them?"

Dean looked up at Sam before taking a deep breath. "Yeah. We know them."

Sam took one look at Dean's face and knew. They didn't have a choice; Dakota had to know. His hand continued its slow, soothing circles between Dakota's shoulder blades while he tried to work out how to put this. Would it be stupid to hope that Mrs Stewart had never mentioned their familial bond?  
  
"You don't have to worry about them," Sam said after a long moment, and there must have been something in his voice because Dakota looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Sam gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "They're not going to hurt you. Dean and I are the Winchesters."

 

Dean felt Dakota stiffen in his lap, and he quickly added, "We are. We're the Winchesters, but I promise that we will not hurt you."

 

Dakota glanced between the two of them, his eyes wide. "But... But... You  _kill_  creatures like me," he said, his voice confused.

 

Dean nodded. "But only if they kill humans first. You never killed anyone; you said yourself you were just bait. You're not to blame, Dakota. And, well, Sam and I do care about you."

 

Dakota was quiet for a moment, digesting this new information and then a frown creased his face. "She said—She said 'the Winchester  _brothers._ ' And you two..." He trailed off, blushing heavily.

 

Dean glanced up at Sam. "Winchesters do things their own way," he said evenly.

 

Sam had the good grace to look sheepish. "It may be a little weird," he conceded with a hopeful smile, "but I think you know something about that. We love each other, and we love you, and that's all that matters." Theoretically, at least. Sam took half a step back and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't discussed this next part with Dean, but he had a feeling he was speaking for both of them. "Of course, if you'd rather not stay with us, then you don't have to. We'd never make you, and we won't hurt you. Just let us deal with Mrs Stewart first so that you won't have to worry about her anymore."

The kitchen was quiet as Dakota thought. Dean tried to hold back the worry threatening to overwhelm him; he had to let Dakota work this out for himself. Finally, Dakota shook his head. "I wanna stay with you," he mumbled, looking between them anxiously. "Feels like home with you."

Dean let a relieved smile crack through. "I'd like that," he agreed. "What about you, Sammy?"

Sam couldn't have kept the grin off his face if he'd wanted to. "I'd love that," he answered, and bent to envelop Dakota in a huge hug. The atmosphere seemed lighter, less stifling now that they had no secrets left between them. When they pulled back, Dakota was smiling, and Sam decided that they'd had enough emotional moments for one day. "Come on," he said, straightening up and holding a hand out to Dakota. "Let's go kick your ball around."

Dakota nodded and slid off of Dean's lap, following Sam eagerly. Dean couldn't help grinning; looked like he and Sam got their family after all.

That night, Dean waited until everyone was done with their now-customary mugs of hot chocolate before bringing up the threat of Mrs. Stewart. "We're going to have to start seriously preparing for her coming, now," he said, his arm around Dakota's shoulders.

Sam nodded, in complete agreement. "For starters, we should make sure Dakota isn't here when she comes for us," he said, with a smile for the boy in question. "Maybe we could ask Alicia if you can stay at her place?"

Dakota looked like he was about to argue—even going so far as to open his mouth—but then he seemed to think better of it. "I don't know how to fight," he admitted, looking discouraged.

"We'll teach you, once Mrs. Stewart's taken care of," Dean assured Dakota. "For now, though, we need to stock up on silver: bullets and knives."

Sam hummed, mentally doing a stock-take on the content of the trunk. There was actually very little silver in there; quite a number of recent hunts had involved monsters vulnerable to it. They needed to shop. "Is there anything we should know about her?" he asked Dakota. "Does she always go about this the same way, can we predict how she's gonna come at us?"

"She usually comes by pretending to be a social worker checking up on the kid when everyone's home," Dakota explained. "For us, though, she'll probably come around pretending to have the papers saying that the adoption's official. And she probably won't look like Mrs. Stewart, she'll be someone new."

"Well, we'll just make sure to have silver somewhere to make sure that she has to touch it," Dean decided. "Sam, can you disconnect the doorbell? We've got a knocker, and I can fit some silver to it."

"Sure," Sam agreed. "And you should wear your ring whenever you answer the door." He ruffled Dakota's hair. "Just make sure _you_ don't touch any of it. We'd be bad parents if we let you burn yourself." Thinking about it, this could cause a problem. They were hunters, which meant that a good portion of the things they owned was made of silver, including everyday things like the cutlery at the bat cave. They would make it work, though; they had to. Dakota was a part of their lives now.

 

Dakota nodded. "Then that's settled. We'll start tommorrow. But now," Dean announced, glancing up at the clock, "it's time for little monsters to go to bed. Up ya go, kiddo!" Dean swung Dakota, who squealed and giggled and protested, up and over his shoulder so that Dakota was facing backwards, grinning and waving to Sam as Dean carried him up the stairs and into his bedroom to get ready for bed.

 

Sam laughed and waved back, calling after them that he would be up soon to say goodnight. Later, when he and Dean were down to their boxers and were just about to climb into bed, Sam pulled his brother in for a hard kiss. "I love you," he murmured against Dean's lips, before licking into his mouth. He didn't say that very often, but this seemed like a special occasion. "No more secrets now. Once we put this bitch down, we can be a real family." 

 

Dean smiled when he heard Sam say he loved Dean. "I love you, too," he murmured. "And a real family sounds nice." They hadn't had a real family in years—Bobby had been like a father, but that wasn't the same thing.

 

***

 

The next few days saw Sam and Dean shifter-proofing the house—as much as was possible, given that a shifter lived with them. Sam was outside, taking down the doorbell while Dakota played in the yard; Dean was inside, arguing on the phone over the price of a set of silver knives. Once the doorbell was a thing of the past, Sam picked up the knocker. Rather than adapt the old one, they'd managed to find an antique knocker made of solid silver, and since Sam was apparently Mr DIY now, it was his job to fit it.  
  
"Please don't touch this," Sam said to Dakota, repeating himself for what had to be the fifth time as he started hammering nails into the wood of the door. "If you get locked out, just knock on the window. We'll hear you."

Dakota rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Sam," he pointed out, but he was grinning indulgently at Sam anyway. "I know not to touch any silver or anything like that."

Dean finally managed to settle on a price for the antique silverware, and he hung up the phone, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath. He came out onto the front porch and patted Sam on the shoulder. "You have no idea how hot it is to see you doing the carpentry stuff," he informed Sam while Dakota laughed.

Sam swatted halfheartedly at Dean with a huff of faux irritation. "You're an asshole," he told Dean mildly as he finished fixing the knocker into place. "And there are children around, so behave yourself." He pressed a light kiss to Dean's lips and grinned when he pulled back. "I'm guessing you got a good price on the knives, so... What now?"

Dean shrugged, shifting restlessly. "We keep making improvements where we can, and we wait," he said. "Not much else we can do."

"She should be here in a week," Dakota offered, coming up between the two men, and Dean easily hoisted Dakota up into his arms.

"Gettin too big for this, kid," he said mildly.

Sam laughed. "You're getting too old for that," he corrected, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes. "If you put your back out I am not giving you a massage."

Dean stuck his tongue out at Sam. "F—Screw you, 'Squatch, I'm only 34. And you would so give me a massage, or else I won't let you touch me, period," he retorted. "C'mon, Dakota. We know when we're not wanted, don't we?"

Dakota giggled and waved back at Sam, a huge grin on his face as Dean carted him to the Impala, saying something about going to pick up ice cream.

Sam watched them go, smiling softly even after the car had disappeared from view. It was incredible, how far they'd come. Dean had always been great with kids, but he was wonderful with Dakota—a regular family man. Maybe that made Sam the housewife, but if it meant he got to see both Dean and Dakota looking so happy every day, he would take on that role in an instant. This wasn't the fleeting experience they'd both expected, but it was better. They had a son, they had each other—and nothing, not even Dakota's biological parent, was going to take that away.   
  
Still smiling, Sam turned and went into the house. This was going to work out just fine.

 

***

The next week seemed to both drag and speed by. They were all keyed up, waiting for Mrs. Stewart's attack, but they were trying to make everything seem normal. Dakota played with Mark and Jason almost every day, Alicia and Leah came over for dinner, and Sam and Dean went to dinner at their place—easily sidestepping the other couple's offers to show them around the neighborhood—but the tension was always there.

Finally, Dakota came back into the house, his eyes wide. "She's coming tonight. After dinner."

Sam went over to Dakota and gave him a hug. To be given such short notice might prove to be a little problematic, but at least they knew. "We're ready for this," Sam told his son, his attempt to sound bracing and confident mostly successful. "I've already spoken to Alicia about a sleepover some time this week, so you staying there shouldn't be a problem, and Dean and I know what we're doing. Why don't you go and pack an overnight bag?"

 

Dakota worried his lower lip, looking like he wanted to say something, but he just nodded and gave them both a hug before exiting the kitchen.

Once Dakota was gone, Dean turned to Sam. "We'll need to make sure that all of our weapons and everything are within easy reach. Wouldn't hurt to carry the guns on us, too."

Sam murmured his agreement and went to fetch the guns, securing his own in the waistband of his jeans. Once they'd gone over everything and made sure all of their weapons were accessible, Sam called Alicia and made arrangements for Dakota to spend the night there. That was really all that mattered. As long as Dakota was out of harm's way, the brothers would be able to deal with whatever came at them.  
  
They said their goodbyes twenty minutes later, and Sam and Dean settled in to wait. They'd told Dakota they loved him and that he wasn't to worry, and they were doing their best to follow their own advice, but when someone rapped on the door, abruptly shattering the silence, Sam felt his heartbeat speed up. He turned to Dean. "Do you want to get that or should I?"

"I'll get it," Dean said. "You be ready." He waited for Sam's nod before he headed to the front hall, looking out the window. A woman was standing outside, brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, horn-rimmed glasses on her face, dressed in an official suit. She was rubbing her hand and frowning, glaring at what Dean guessed to be the knocker. _Showtime._

Dean pulled the door open, making sure his weapon was easily accessible. "Hi," he greeted, plastering a smile on his face. "Can I help you?"

Sam positioned himself behind the living room door, his gun in his hand, and waited. He heard Dean's greeting, could just imagine the fake smile on his face, and wondered idly what form the shifter had taken for this. He got half an answer when a woman's voice answered Dean.  
  
"Hey there! I'm Joanna Griffiths, I'm from the adoption centre? They sent me over to give you an update on the progress of your application to adopt young Dakota, and to ask you a few questions. May I come in?"

 

 _Joanna Griffiths, my ass,_ Dean thought, but he kept the smile on his face. "Sure," he said, stepping to the side. He led her down the hall, keeping an ear out. He was willing to bet she'd try to get them nice and relaxed so that they'd be easier to surprise. "Sam, lady's here from the center," he called.

 

Dean's bet was wrong. As soon as he had his back to her, the shifter made her move, whacking Dean over the head with a vase that had been left behind by the Porters. Sam heard the grunt and the crash as his brother fell to the floor, and hurriedly moved out from behind the door. The shifter was already bending low over a dazed Dean, clearly going in for the kill; she looked up when she heard the click that was Sam flipping off the safety of his gun.  
  
"Hunters," she spat, furious.  
  
Sam smiled. "Winchesters," he corrected, and put a bullet between her eyes.  
  
The shifter fell back with a shriek, and Sam had barely enough time to help Dean to his feet before she was coming at them again, this time wielding a knife. She froze when she realised there were two guns pointing at her chest this time. "He'll kill you," she laughed, an edge of panic to her voice. "My son will kill you."  
  
Sam and Dean exchanged a brief glance, and then fired.

 

***

Luckily no one seemed to have heard the gunfire, and Dean made a quick run down to Alicia's house to bring Dakota something he'd "forgotten." After receiving dakota's enthusiastic hug, reassuring him that Sam was fine as well, and grinning as Alicia remarked over how much like a family the three of them seemed, Dean headed back to the house, cursing under his breath and rubbing his sore head.

"All right, Sammy. Let's go burn the body," he said as he re-entered the house. "Still can't believe the bitch got the drop on me."

Sam gave his brother a sympathetic pat on the arm. "I didn't expect her to act so fast either, but I guess she was getting desperate," he offered. "She wouldn't normally come for us so soon, and she knew the Winchesters were after her—apparently that was enough to make her act rashly."  
  
They built a pire in the back yard and brought the body out to douse it in salt and gasoline before setting the fire. As the shifter went up in smoke, Sam and Dean stood by to watch, feeling immensely pleased with themselves. A less experienced hunter might have found this victory anticlimatic, but they were just glad it was over. Now they could move on with their lives, hopefully with Dakota in tow.  
  
Except that right now Dakota wasn't there. Perhaps it was a little perverse, but Sam found himself admiring the way the firelight was dancing on Dean's face, and he sidled up close to press a kiss to his brother's temple. "We've got the place all to ourselves tonight," he mumbled right into Dean's ear, as innocently as he knew how. "How are we going to occupy ourselves?"

 

Dean gave Sam an amused glance. "I don't know; I was figuring on drinking some beer, maybe watching some football or tennis on the television, then enjoying a nice quiet night where I can actually sleep all the way through the night for once," he said dryly, arching an eyebrow.

 

Sam shrugged, and stepped away from Dean. "Okay," he said easily, already backing toward the house. "Enjoy your, uh, tennis. I think I'm just gonna find a book and get an early night." He gave Dean a little wave and turned his back on him to hide the smile twitching at his lips. "See you in the morning."

 

Dean only made it to five before he suddenly grinned and sprinted for Sam, leaping and landing on Sam's back, wrapping his arms and legs around Sam, almost knocking the bigger—and that was just wrong, that Dean's little brother was bigger than him—man to the ground. "You ain't gettin off that easy," he growled playfully in Sam's ear before biting down on the side of Sam's neck hard enough to bruise. "Upstairs. Now."

 

It took them a little more time to get upstairs than it should have, but only because they couldn't keep their hands off each other long enough to walk properly. When they at last stumbled into the room, kissing furiously and still pawing at each other, Sam's jeans were tangled around his ankles and God only knew where Dean's shirt was. "Wanna fuck you," Sam mumbled into Dean's neck, pressing his brother up against the door while he kicked out of his jeans. "Wanna fuck you _so hard_."

 

Dean gasped, throwing his head back and arching up against Sam, his body thrumming with anticipation even as he somehow managed to gasp out, "What if I want to be the one fucking you?" It was a token protest, though, and they both knew it. Dean scrabbled at the back of Sam's shirt, finally managing to tug it off of Sam and he made a pleased noise in the back of his throat, running his hands over all that bronzed skin.

 

"Next time," Sam growled, and picked Dean up to throw him onto the bed. He was on Dean in an instant, kissing down his throat and onto his chest, hands working at the button of his jeans. Once he had the fly undone, he pushed both denim and cotton over Dean's hips and then yanked them off, groaning as he did so. Dean's cock was hard and standing to attention, and Sam just had to wrap his hand around it. "You've done this before, right?" he asked, stroking leisurely. "I'm pretty sure that dream I had about you rubbing your ass all over my dick one morning wasn't a dream."

 

"Thank god it wasn't," Dean growled, thrusting helplessly into Sam's hand. "God, Sammy, you have no idea how long I waited for this," he panted. "Never thought I could have it."

 

"You can have it," Sam promised, releasing Dean's cock to fondle his balls. "You can have it all." After a moment he moved his hand lower still, dipping into the cleft of Dean's ass to tease at his entrance with a dry finger. "Please tell me we have lube."

 

"Drawer, bedside table," Dean gasped out. He fumbled around, finally managing to pull the drawer open and grab the lube, pushing it into Sam's hands.

 

Sam took it gratefully and popped the cap, slicking up his fingers even as he bent to kiss at Dean's neck once more. "You didn't answer my question," he murmured casually, and let his hand drop between them once more to circle his brother's hole, smearing lube around the rim. "Have you done this before?"

 

Dean swallowed hard, but nodded. "Yeah. Coupla times. Drunk," he breathed, focusing on relaxing. It was hard, especially with the anticipation thrumming through every nerve ending in his body.

 

" _Fuck_." Sam was completely unprepared for the wave of jealousy that almost knocked him over. He didn't know why he'd expected this to be uncharted territory for Dean, but the knowledge that other guys had been here before him... Following an urge born of pure possessiveness, Sam pressed one finger into Dean and crooked it to find his prostate almost immediately. It didn't matter how many guys Dean had been with—Sam was going to be better than all of them.

 

Dean hissed at the unexpected breach, bucking his hips to try to alleviate the sting. He glared down at Sam. "Possessive much?" he snorted. "None— _oh god,_ don't stop—none since before you le—left for Stanford." It was hard to string together more than two words with Sam determinedly fucking him with his finger—scratch that, fingers.

 

Sam had the good grace to look sheepish, but only for a moment; it was difficult to be apologetic when Dean was writhing beneath him, making such pretty noises as Sam stretched him open on first two, then three fingers. "You're so fucking tight," he moaned as he finally eased his fingers out of Dean, lapping at a nipple to distract him. "Need to be in you; need to feel you around me. How do you want to do this?"

 

"Immediately," Dean spat out, pushing and pulling at Sam until he was situated between Dean's legs. "Waited ten fucking years for this, I don't wanna wait anymore. You can romance me later, bitch." He grinned up at Sam to show he wasn't _that_ mad, but he was impatient.

 

"Alright, alright," Sam laughed breathlessly, licking into Dean's mouth while he took his turn fumbling in the bedside drawer. At last he produced a condom, and he rolled it onto his length before slicking himself up and positioning himself at Dean's entrance. Maybe Dean had said that romance could wait, but Sam couldn't help his sigh of, "I love you," as he started to press inside.

 

"Yeah, yeah, love you, too," Dean groaned, wrapping his legs around Sam's hips. _Have to remember to remind him no condom next time,_ Dean thought. They were both clean, and Dean wanted to be able to feel Sammy filling _him_ up, not a condom. Dean groaned again as Sam bottomed out, and he reached up to pull Sam down into an uncoordinated kiss. "Move your ass," he grumbled after a moment.

 

Sam found it in him to smirk against Dean's lips. "Should've known you'd be a pushy bottom," he chuckled, but he wasn't going to deny Dean. Bracing himself with his hands on either side of Dean's head, Sam drew back until he was almost all the way out and then snapped his hips forward, driving into the tight heat of Dean's body with a strangled moan.

 

"Somebody's gott—" Dean cut off with a choking moan, groaning in pleasure as Sam drove into him. "Don't stop," he hissed, arching his back and rolling his hips up to meet Sam's.

 

There was absolutely no way Sam was stopping. Dean was beautifully responsive, meeting him thrust for thrust and allowing Sam to slide deep inside him. Sam ducked down to catch Dean's lips in a kiss that was more teeth than tongue, gasping into his mouth as he set a brutal pace, fast and hard and perfect, intent on fucking Dean through the mattress.

 

"God, Sammy, don't stop,keep going, so close, so close, oh god," Dean whined, his hips bucking wildly as he scrabbled at Sam's shoulders, heat coiling in his gut. He somehow managed to regain control of his limbs long enough to stroke his own cock a couple of times, and then he was coming, spurting up over his own belly, some of it splattering on Sam's chest as he moaned Sam's name.

 

"Dean," Sam gasped as his brother clenched around him, lost in the throes of his orgasm. " _Dean_." And then he was coming too, blood rushing in his ears and lights popping in front of his eyes. He fucked Dean through it before falling still, barely managing to keep from crushing him. "Jesus," he panted, heart racing, and kissed Dean, hard and demanding. "Love you."

 

"Love you, too, but you're crushing me," Dean grumbled half-heartedly as Sam slipped out. Dean rolled them so that he was on top, ignoring the (soon-to-be-disgusting) mess between their stomachs. "Better."

 

Sam smiled serenely and kissed Dean again, sweet and lingering this time. They should probably move to clean up, but Sam wasn't sure that he could feel his legs. "Was it worth the wait?" he asked instead, blowing his own sweaty hair out of his eyes. The question sounded like a joke, Sam's voice full of cocky arrogance, but it was genuine. Up to now, they'd only ever kissed—this made everything a whole lot more real, and Sam supposed there was a good chance that Dean was going to freak out and regret it.

 

Dean frowned as he looked down at Sam's face. He looked... He looked like he was waiting for Dean to regret this, break it off, throw Sam out, or something equally drastic. "Yes, it was," he said seriously, studying Sam warily. "I don't regret this, if that's gonna be your next question," he added.

 

The smile Sam graced Dean with following these words was brighter than the sun. "Good," he sighed, all the breath coming out of him in one relieved rush. "I don't either. Wanted this too long to regret any of it."

 

"Good," Dean said contentedly, laying his head on Sam's—really nice, broad—chest. "Awesome sex, sleep now," he mumbled.

 

Sam chuckled, deep and satisfied, and brought a hand up to card his fingers through Dean's hair. They were going to wake up feeling gross tomorrow, but right now, neither of them cared. Sleep was already stealing over them, and Sam was all too happy to let it take him.

 

Dean woke up the next morning feeling like someone had cemented him to Sam's front. He somehow managed to peel himself off of Sam(which, by the way, dried cum pressed between two guys for longer than ten minutes= _ow_ ) and got a quick shower before shaking Sam awake and then heading downstairs(wincing a few times when he forgot to watch just how hard he put his foot down, and the shock echoed up his leg and to his still-sore ass) to cook breakfast. The plan was for Dakota to come home a little after lunch, and Dean wanted to talk to Sam about what happened now, now that the shifter was dead.

 

Sam woke up with a smile on his face, and it hadn't faded by the time he got downstairs. He found Dean at the stove, and went over to wrap his arms around his brother's middle, lips pressed to the side of his neck. "Morning," he mumbled, still smiling against Dean's skin. "That smells awesome."

 

"Glad to know I can still cook," Dean grinned, tilting his head to the side to allow Sam easier access. "Sleep well?"

 

"Slept _great_ ," Sam replied, briefly nibbling on Dean's earlobe before stepping away. If he made Dean burn the breakfast, his life wouldn't be worth living. "How's your head?" 

 

"Could be better, but I'm not complaining," Dean replied, concentrating on cooking. Once breakfast was done, he set a plate in front of Sam before grabbing one for himself and digging in. "So," he said, swallowing a mouthful of eggs. "What're we gonna do now? We've got Dakota coming along with us, so..."

 

Sam shrugged and finished his mouthful, chewing thoughtfully, before answering. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I guess I didn't think about it much, beyond the fact that he's coming with us. We had to get through last night before we started planning that far ahead, y'know?" He realised then that they _had_ gotten through last night, and the thought had his stomach doing an excited little flip. Dakota and the neighbourhood in general was out of danger now; Sam and Dean were essentially looking at starting a whole new life together, with their adoptive son. _Finally_. 

 

Dean nodded, pausing to chew and swallow before he added, "Yeah. I know. Maybe we could just meander our way back to the bunker, see what pops up? Might run into a case or two on our way back, and it could give Dakota a chance to see what the hunting life is all about.

 

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Sam agreed with a smile. "Hunting has to be his decision, but the experience will help him make it. Either way, he should learn how to defend himself. Other hunters, and other creatures, won't be as understanding as us."

 

Dean snorted, almost inhaling some of his eggs. "Hell, _I'm_ surprised we're as understanding as us," he chuckled. "But yeah, every hunter we come across always wants to do the silver test." He frowned, poking as his eggs with his fork. "That's gonna be hell on Dakota."

 

Sam's expression softened. "I know," he murmured. "We could try to build up his tolerance to it, but that would involve _us_ hurting him, or him hurting himself. I don't want that."

 

"Better us, though, than someone who might actually hurt him a lot worse than a silver burn," Dean pointed out. "I guess this might have to be one of those things we play by ear."

 

Sam nodded, unsettled by the idea but seeing Dean's logic. "Let Dakota decide," he suggested. "If he wants to, then we'll do whatever it takes, but if he'd rather not then we can't force him." He sighed, and ate some more eggs before speaking again. "What about school?" The question was a tentative one, but it had to be asked. Whether or not Dakota chose to embrace the hunting life, Sam wanted him to have opportunities.

 

Dean gnawed on his lower lip for a second. "I can't see us sending him to a public school, not with how we live," he finally said. "Maybe home schooling? There's gotta be a program for home schooled kids whose parents travel a lot."

 

Once again, Sam found himself nodding, and silently wished that such things had been available when he was a kid. Then again, John probably wouldn't have taken it seriously, seeing it instead as an opportunity to keep them moving rather than staying in a town for a few extra weeks whenever Dean could persuade him to let Sam finish the semester in the local school. "I could probably help teach him some stuff," Sam offered belatedly, and then grinned. "You can teach him math though. You were always way better at math than me."

 

Dean laughed. "Well, it's definitely worth looking into," he grinned, feeling pretty optimistic about their future for the first time in... longer than he could remember. Their lives had just been one big clusterfuck of worry, terror, and frustration so far; it was nice to have something to look forward to.

 

They decided to stick around for a little while longer, build up to the moving away part. It would look strange if they just disappeared overnight, and while it was unlikely that they would ever return or see the friends they'd made again, they wanted to leave on a good note. Besides, the more people they prepared for their departure, the less likely those people were to send the authorities after Dakota.  
  
Life in the suburbs was comfortable, pleasant even, but Sam found himself yearning to get back on the road, to return to the safety of the bat cave and the life he knew. And if Sam was starting to get restless, Dean had likely been climbing the walls for so long that he'd taken up permanent residence on the ceiling. It was excellent timing, then, when the phone rang one Thursday afternoon.   
  
Dean and Dakota were outside, kicking a ball around in the back yard, and Sam was loathe to pull himself away from watching them through the kitchen window to answer it, but he somehow found the strength. He was only talking for a few minutes, but as soon as he hung up he raced outside, grinning from ear to ear. "Guys! I just spoke to Mary. We have to go down to the centre and fill out some paperwork but the adoption went through!"

 

Dean and Dakota echoed each other's whoops, and Dakota raced over to throw himself at Sam, wrapping himself around the younger Winchester's legs. "Yes!" he cried, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm yours, right? No one can come take me away?"

 

Dean grinned and walked over to bend down and hug Dakota before leaning over to kiss Sam. "That's right; we're officially a family now."

 

They went to the center that afternoon to finalize the adoption, and when they left, they went to Red Lobster to celebrate. While they were there, they talked with Dakota about schooling and whatnot, made their final decisions on when they would leave, and by the time they left, Dean was still grinning from ear to ear. They would still be hunting, sure, but they would also be "home-schooling" Dakota, and teaching him to hunt, if he wanted to—he said he did, but Dean was going to withhold an official decision on that until the kid had been on at least one more hunt—but most importantly, they would be together. A family at last.

 

A few weeks later, they were loading up the Impala and saying their goodbyes to Alicia, Leia, and their kids. Once that was all done, they all slid into the Impala, and Dean revved the engine, waving to Mark and Jason as they pulled away from the curb. 

 

Sam felt like he was never going to stop smiling. Dean was his, Dakota was theirs, and they all finally had the family they'd always dreamed of. It was safe to say that Sam was beyond happy, possibly for the first time in his life.   
  
He looked over his shoulder, and his smile only got wider. Dakota had fallen asleep a few hours into the journey, despite being adamant when they'd set off that he was going to stay awake the whole way. It was dark now, and no one else was on the road as they headed toward their next job. A simple salt and burn that had sounded perfect for Dakota's first real hunt. Dean was maybe just as excited about it as Dakota.  
  
Sam reached out across the seat and covered Dean's hand with his own where it was resting between them; the two shared a tender look, their fingers twining together. When he was younger, Sam had craved a home—a real one, with a knocker on the front door and a back yard to play in and a flight of stairs that he could climb every night to get to his own bedroom. Currently, they were driving away from the house that had essentially been the basis of that fantasy, leaving it behind in favour of continuing the same nomadic lifestyle he had once loathed. But Sam didn't care. It had taken him far too long to realise it, but home was right here, in the Impala with Dean—and now Dakota, whom he loved more than he had ever thought possible. This wasn't the conventional version of a perfect life, but it was _theirs_.  
  
Sam was still smiling long after he'd fallen asleep.


End file.
